Broken Strings And Shattered Dreams
by Savannah White
Summary: Sixteen year old Brigitte always knew about her past. Abandoned on the street, she was taken in by a ballerina named Antoinette. Or so she thought. Her real saviour was Erik, a man with a cruel past and no hope for a bright future. When they meet and piece the pieces back together, can there be a future for them? Or will there be more Broken Strings and Shattered Dreams?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello to all! I hope you enjoy this story! It's a short chapter, as all of my chapters will be. Now, without further ado, Broken Strings And Shattered Dreams.**

September 1889

The sky was dark and cloudy and rain flooded the streets of Paris, France. But a figure in a dark cloak, hat and white mask didn't think a thing about it. He didn't flinch at the loud thunder or the flashes of lightning in the sky. He soon came upon a huge building. The Palais Garnier or otherwise known as the Paris Opera House. Around to the side there was a grate with the screws halfway undone. The figure held a basket close against his chest, as his cloak billowed in the wind. Kneeling down to finish unscrewing the four screws, he suddenly heard an interesting sound. It was a howl. He looked around. He stepped to where the busy streets were. No one seemed to hear the loud howling. So the figure went to discover where the howling was coming from. There was no one there in the alley-like area, but the man himself. He went around to where empty, broken and dirty crates and baskets were littered, along with trash and empty whiskey bottles. He lifted each and every crate up and to his shock and horror, under the lowest crate was a bundle of rags. Gently removing the top rag, the man gasped and dropped the cloth. Whatever was under the rags was howling and moving. He lifted the rag and to his utter horror, there was a baby. The baby was pale and skinny. When the rag was lifted from the baby's face, the young one stopped crying. Lifting the baby out, the man studied the infant. He or she had to have been there for at least a couple hours or so. There was no note or any message from anyone. Not knowing what to do, the man paced with the baby in his arms. He was so preoccupied, that he didn't noticed the way that the baby started to gurgle happily. All of a sudden the man heard shouting. It came nearer as he quickly dove to where the grate was. He undid the screws and slid inside with the baby, before pulling the grate back in place. He walked away with the bundle of rags in his arms. When he reached the lake, he placed the baby gently in the gondola and took the stick to cross to the other side of the lake. When he tied to boat up, he picked up the baby and his basket, and headed down the maze of tunnels and secret doors until he came to his living quarters. It was nothing much. Three rooms was what his home consisted of. The first room was his bedroom where there was a small black coffin, the second room was the kitchen and the main room contained a table, two chairs, his precious organ and some random dressers everywhere. Candelabras with their soft glow made this man's home complete.

The first thing that the man did was dump everything in his basket out and then he set the baby in the place of his parcels in the basket, before disappearing to find some milk. He didn't take the baby for the fear of drawing attention to himself. When he reached the kitchen in the opera house, he immediately went in search of milk. He found that and a bottle and disappeared once again. He returned to see the baby gurgling in the basket. The man stoked the fire in the fireplace and popped off the cap of the milk. With his hands he dumped a good amount of the cold milk into one of the two pots hanging above the first, and with his skillful foot, he scooted the baby nearer to the fire so the baby could warm up and rocked the infant back and forth. When he dipped his bony finger into the milk, he nodded with satisfaction and poured it into the bottle. He then took off his cloak and hung it up, before picking the baby up and feeding the infant the warm milk. Not long after, the baby was asleep. Though the man knew nothing about babies or how to take care of them, the man learned along the way. He soon discovered it was a baby girl. She was a small little one, with soft green eyes and little wisps of brown hair. Her skin was pink and soft, and her hands and feet were tiny and delicate. The man fed, bathed, changed and rocked the baby every day for about six months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! First, off the date was a typo. The year is actually 1878, **_**not**_** 1889. So sorry! Anyways, thank you to all who have reviewed, favorited and followed! I appreciate it so much! First off, I wanted to say, that I will be posting every Tuesday, so you all know when to expect the next chapter. **

March 1879

Above the cellars that were under the opera house, a young ballerina named Antoinette was tossing and turning one night. She kept hearing the wind and strange sounds. Sounds that sounded like a baby crying. For an hour, this torture continued, before Antoinette gave up trying to sleep. She pulled on her slippers and her pink shawl and grabbed a candle.

"It better not be who I think it is." Antoinette sighed. She headed down to the kitchen and felt for the invisible door that she knew her friend went through. She had watched him and knew where the entrance was. If she had not known, she would have never even known that were was an outline in the wall. Stepping into the darkness, Antoinette was suddenly glad she had brought a candle. Before long, she was upon his home. When she spotted him she was in a state of shock. He was pacing around with a pink bundle in his arms. He was cooing at her, his cloak swishing every time he made a sharp turn. He bounced her a little and whispered, "Sh, it's alright, Brigitte, Erik's here." He then set the baby girl in a cradle near the fire and started to play his violin, ever so softly.

"Erik, what are you doing? I can hear the baby crying from up in the ballet dormitory!" Antoinette walked over. Erik scoffed, as Brigitte slowly quieted. Soon enough Brigitte stopped crying. A happy look was on her face. Erik smiled in triumph. Every time that she cried, he would play that exact tune and she would immediately quiet down. He had to have played it at least five times a day for the first three months that he had her. It had slimmed down to three now, four on a bad day. He put down his violin and picked up the baby and the bottle that was halfway filled with milk. He stuck it into Brigitte's mouth, as the baby drank, hungrily.

"Who is this and why do you have a baby in your home?" Antoinette demanded.

"This is Brigitte and I rescued her from dying on the streets, thank you very much." Erik scowled, as he held the precious bundle in his bony thin arms. She could tell that he seemed embarrassed. A cold hearted thirteen year old caring for a young baby girl; it made entirely no sense at all. "I can't keep her here much longer if you can hear her from above. They'll discover that I'm here. You have to take her for me. Raise her. I could never be a good Papa, anyways. She's better off having a loving mother than a devilish demon as a Papa." Erik gently thrust Brigitte into Antoinette's arms. He went to sit back in his huge chair.

"What am I suppose to tell everyone?" Antoinette demanded, bouncing Brigitte ever so slightly. Erik sat with his back towards her gazing into the bright cheery fire and replied, "Tell them you found her on the streets and give them some excuse to let her stay. She could be a _prima ballerina_ or a _prima donna_ when she's older for all we know. Tell some kind of believable lie. I can't keep her any longer." Antoinette noticed the hint of sadness and heartbreak in his voice.

"How long have you had her?" Antoinette asked, seeing the beautifully wood carved cradle. It had fine etches and details. It was obviously made by Erik. He had always had a talent for music, painting and working with his hands.

"About six months." Erik mumbled.

"You're thirteen and you've been taking care of a baby for six months?" Antoinette was impressed. "All right. Fine. I'll take her. But, remember Erik, you are now in my debt." She watched Erik nod. He stood and quickly opened several drawers and pulled out a velvet red bag. He stuffed several things inside, and gave it to Antoinette.

"There is one hundred-sixty francs in this bag. Give her ten francs on each of her birthdays. Tell her that her birthday is September 7th. And for you troubles, Antoinette, here is one hundred francs. Take good care of her." Erik handed Antoinette her money.

"Why September 7th?" Antoinette asked, curiously.

"That is the day I found her. Go now. Don't ever tell her about me." Erik gently pushed Antoinette towards the way back to civilization. Antoinette left Erik's home with Brigitte gurgling happily in her arms.


	3. Chapter 3

May 1885

It had been six years since Brigitte left the care of Erik. She was now six years old, her birthday coming next week. Antoinette was now nineteen and an excellent ballerina. Brigitte was a ballerina, but she never found quite a love for it. She tried singing and it was something she loved. But most of all, Brigitte loved to play the cello and the violin. She was excellent at it. It sounded like music from Heaven. But she never got the chance to play them, because the last time she did, she got into trouble. The managers Monsieur Firmin and Andre put her to work as a servant instead. She ran errands and tended to be a seamstress. Everyone bossed her around. Whether it was the managers, the stage hands, the ballerinas or even the singers. Erik, who was now nineteen, was not satisfied. Though he wished for Brigitte to never know him, he was always looking out for her. He had told Antoinette to take good care of her. Ordering her around and making her a servant was _not _part of the plan. So one night, he waited until Antoinette came down for her usual nightly glass of water in the kitchen. She walked in and was taking a sip of the cool water, when Erik sternly asked, "Antoinette?" The girl dropped the cup, the water and glass spilling on the floor.

"Erik?" Antoinette hissed, as she quickly grabbed a broom. "You scared me!" She scurried to pick up all the broken glass. Erik only stood, his golden eyes burning into her gaze. He had on his usual black trousers, white button up shirt and waist coat. It was complete with his cloak and his usual mask.

"Well you deserved that for the life you've given my little Brigitte. I told you to take care of her. That goes beyond seeing that she has somewhere warm to sleep, clothing her and feeding her. I want her to have a bright future! Not one as a servant! I order you to give her a better future. Or I will myself!" Erik snapped. With that and a swish of his new cape, he disappeared.

The next morning Antoinette talked to the managers about making Brigitte a cellist or a violinist. Monsieur Andre thought it was a splendid idea, but Monsieur Firmin did not. So Antoinette went away discouraged. In the walls, Erik listened to the conversation. He decided that he was already not fond of Firmin. Andre, well he'd see if he would like him. _Well, if Antoinette can't change Firmin's mind, maybe I can. _So the next day he wrote a note to the managers.

_Dear Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre,_

_ There has been a terrible decision made that could turn this opera house to ruins. Mademoiselle Brigitte must be made a cellist or a violinist, and she must be one of them in the orchestra in the near future. Preferably by the time she is sixteen. If you do not, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. _

_Your humble servant, _

_O. G. _

The next day, when Monsieur Andre went into his and Monsieur Firmin's office, he spotted a note on his desk. He opened it and read it thoroughly. When Monsieur Firmin came in, he showed him the note.

"What on earth? We cannot put Brigitte in lessons! She is a _servant _girl! She is not even pretty!" Monsieur Firmin snapped, throwing his hands up.

"Why not? I say we give her a change, Firmin. What could we possibly lose? I've been telling you to give her a chance. And look: the message says "If you do not, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur". We can't risk that. Let us give her chance." Andre persisted.

"No. I refuse to listen to this _O. G._." Firmin snapped. With Erik listening in the walls, he was dissatisfied. So when the orchestra was practicing in the afternoon, he went up to where the backdrops were and cut the ropes. The backdrop fell to the ground with a huge _thump_. The orchestra screamed and ran from their instruments. Erik let out a maniacal laugh, as it bounced off of every wall. It was loud and creepy sounding. Firmin and Andre came to the scene.

"I tell you, put the girl in lessons!" Andre told Firmin. Firmin, now a bit shaken, nodded. Brigitte was sent for, where Andre and Firmin were waiting.

"Ah, Brigitte. We would like to give you lessons on the violin or the cello. Whichever you pick." Andre smiled. Brigitte smiled and asked, "Do you mean it?" Andre happily nodded. When she turned away, he shot a smug look to Firmin. Brigitte picked up the violin and started to play. It was the oddest most beautiful tune. It was sad and heartbreaking, even haunting, if you must call it, but in the same way, it was sweet. Erik froze in shock. That was the tune that he used to lull his little Brigitte to sleep. The tune that he used to make Brigitte stop crying. It brought him to tears. He had to remove his white mask from his face to wipe the sad tears that ran down his deformed cheek. How he missed Brigitte! There was never a spare moment that went by that Erik didn't think about her. Brigitte played, with tears flowing down her pink cheeks. The ballerinas, stage hands, orchestra and the chorus singers gathered around her. When she finished, everyone applauded.

"Brigitte, where did you learn that?" "You were amazing!" "Oh, Brigitte we never knew!" Were a few of the endless questions that the ballerinas asked, who gathered around her. Even Antoinette was shocked.

"She…She…..She is a prodigy!" Firmin spat out in amazement. Antoinette went over and knelt in front of Brigitte and wiped the tears off her face.

"Brigitte, my dear where did you learn that?" Antoinette asked, her voice strained. She did a good job of hiding it, after all, Brigitte was only six years old.

"I-I don't know. I remember it. I remember it so clearly." Brigitte admitted. "I don't know where it's from." Erik leaned against the wall to support himself. She remembered! She was only six months old! He figured that she was at least five months old when he found her. He started to cry again. He didn't understand why. He went off to his house. _Curse my tears! Curse the feelings I feel inside! A monster should not weep. A monster does not _deserve_ to weep! _Erik chided himself. Shaking his head, Erik had to do something before Brigitte's seventh birthday.


	4. Chapter 4

Five days later, Brigitte turned seven. She had a small party with the ballerinas. It was nothing special at all. No streamers or balloons. Antoinette gave her ten francs that Erik had demanded she was given for each birthday. Brigitte had a small cake and that was the end of her party. The cake was so small, it could fit in the palm of her hand. It was lightly glazed with no candle. Yet Brigitte was nothing short of happy and grateful. When Antoinette came up that night, she was surprised to see Brigitte twirling in front of the mirror in a beautiful soft pink dress. The dress was exquisite. It had tulle and silk, a lace neckline and long sleeves. The shoes were small little heeled shoes. The necklace was a small diamond one. With her naturally soft curled brown hair, Brigitte looked beautiful. There was a grand chocolate cake on Brigitte's nightstand.

"Brigitte, darling, where did you get all of this? You didn't take it, did you?" Antoinette asked, worriedly.

"No, ma'am. I came up and saw these lying on my bed. There was this note." Brigitte handed her a piece of paper. She went back to twirling about in her beautiful gown, while Antoinette read on.

_Brigitte, _

_ Happy birthday. Everyone needs something to wear for their debut._

_An Unknown Friend_

Antoinette smiled. _Erik_. Brigitte handed her something else. It was sheets of music. _Debut? What are you doing, Erik? _Antoinette wondered. She would soon find out.

Monsieur Andre was packing up his things from the office that night, when he saw another note lying on his desk. Almost a bit afraid to touch it, he packed up the rest of his things before opening it.

_Dear Monsieur Andre, _

_ The time has come for you to put Brigitte on stage to perform. She is ready, with a song learned. Let her perform on Friday night as the encore. Do not let Monsieur Firmin know until it is too late to cancel. Also, I demanded that you leave Box 5 open for me. I shall be in attendance. If you don't, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur._

_Your faithful servant _

_Opera Ghost_

Monsieur Andre did just that. When Friday came, he was more than scared. In the wings, Brigitte was straightening her dress in her own private dressing room. It was large and there were roses tied in black silk ribbons on the table. She looked at herself in the mirror and whispered out loud, "I'm scared."

"There is nothing to be afraid of, my little Brigitte." Erik let the words flow out of his mouth as smooth as lyrics in a song. He physically slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing he had said his thoughts aloud. _Oh Erik, you are such a fool! You are the famous Opera Ghost and yet you cannot contain yourself in front of a seven year old! _Erik's mind hissed.

"What? Who's there? That voice, it sounds so familiar!" Brigitte looked all around. She found no one, but she blew a kiss in the air and left the room, when Antoinette knocked on the door to tell her she was going to be onstage in five minutes. Erik cautiously made his way to Box 5 and sat down in the shadows to watch his little Brigitte play. Andre looked up to Box 5 and saw no one.

"Ah, Andre." Firmin came over. "What a marvelous night! No opera ghost in sight!"

"Firmin, I meant to tell you, but it simply slipped my mind," Andre played it cool. "Brigitte will be performing in two minutes. It was another order from the Opera Ghost."

"What? How could you forget?" Firmin demanded. A woman hushed them, as the curtains opened. There stood Brigitte in the outfit that Erik had made her. Her brown curls were pinned back with rose pins. The audience smiled and waited for Brigitte to start. But before she could even lift her bow, Firmin rushed onto the stage. Erik jumped out of his seat, still in the shadows. He was breathily heavily, as fire shot out of his eyes. Erik left in anger to the wings of the stage, before climbing up to the rafters.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. There has been a change in our schedule. Mademoiselle Brigitte will not be playing, tonight. The orchestra will play a song for the final encore. I am sorry for the confusion." Firmin ushered poor Brigitte offstage. People murmured and most of the women shook their head in disbelief. Behind the curtains, Brigitte stood in the embrace of Antoinette, big tears falling down her pink cheeks. He stood now and and clapped his hands for the orchestra to start.

_ "DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT MADEMOISELLE BRIGITTE WAS TO PERFORM HER DEBUT TONIGHT? THE ORCHESTRA IS PLAYING TO BRING DOWN THE CHANDELIER!" _Erik screamed, as he furiously started to saw through the last strand of the rope that held up the grand chandelier. He watched as people screamed and scurried out from under the chandelier. He didn't want to kill anyone, no, not at all. But he _also _wanted everyone to know that he was serious. As soon as the last strand was cut he smiled. Erik laughed maniacally as the chandelier plummeted into the audience. Everyone screamed and ran in all directions. Erik laughed even louder now. They deserved it. Andre had done all that he had asked. Erik later found out that no one was hurt or killed, but the Opera House would need quite a bit of repairing. But that Firmin! _That Firmin! I will make him pay! I will make _everyone_ pay! _Erik thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Another wonderful thanks to all who have followed, favorited, read and reviewed. Now, I'm finding a huge load of timeline mistakes and I apologize. Ugh, you'd think I'd catch them when I proofread! So in chapter 3, it was actually August 31, not may, because if it's a week before her birthday, which is September 7, it would be the end of August and **_**not**_** May. This timeline might even be wrong. Ugh, I feel so stupid. Anyways, enough of my rambling and blubbering apologies, on with the story!**

December 1895

And indeed he did. He tormented the Opera House for years. He dropped sandbags and backdrops, tormented Firmin by making him pay large amounts of money for his salary, he put toads in the beds of the ballerinas, destroyed and ripped up costumes and always made a mess backstage for the stage hands to clean up. He never forgave them for ruining Brigitte's debut. Erik was walking through the walls when he heard a ballerina giggling.

"Oh, Brigitte! Tell me about your dream again!" the ballerina begged.

"Meg, I've told you before." Brigitte laughed. _No, it can't be. _Erik thought. That tall beautiful girl, with green eyes and brown curled hair could not be his dear Brigitte. He often saw her from above, but never well enough to study her fine features. She was beautiful. No stunning. No, there were no words to describe her. She had on a worn pale gray dress and black shoes that were far too tight even for her petite feet. The only bright color on her was the pink ribbon that held her hair back, out of her face. When she walked, she winced at the blisters that were forming from the pinch of the shoes. Erik's eyes darkened, and he decided he needed to be going off to the stores soon- for himself _and_ Brigitte. He was, though, still present when Brigitte told her dream.

"I was only a baby in the story. I was in the arms of a man. A man with something covering his face. He played the violin. Such an oh-so sweet melody." Brigitte closed her eyes in remembrance. That sweet beautiful dream. "He was just turning toward me when I woke up. But as short as it was, it was such a lovely dream." Meg smiled and hugged her dear friend. They soon both stood off the bed and left. Erik leaned against the wall for support. Little Brigitte had been dreaming of him. Erik shook her head and disappeared to go off and find some shoes. That was when the other ballet rats came out. The other ballerinas gathered all around Marie's bed.

"What are you thinking, Marie?" A ballerina asked.

"Madame Giry never notices me! All she sees is Meg and that little brat Brigitte! What's so special about her? She's not even a star ballerina like me! I was suppose to be the lead for tomorrow's performance! It isn't fair and I'm going to get her back for it." Marie snapped. She yanked the pins out of her hair to release her golden hair out of its usual bun. She, in her mind, was one of the lead ballerinas. She was, to nearly everyone, the prettiest ballerina. She had golden blonde hair that fell gracefully to her shoulders, blue eyes that were colder than the ocean, her skin seemed unnaturally perfect and creamy white and she had the grace and skill of a _prima ballerina. _She considered herself higher than all the other ballerinas because she came from a wealthy family. Marie had just arrived about six or so months ago. When she walked through the door, everyone knew that she had a sense of arrogance to her confidence. They knew just by the way she head her head and the way she acted. Unlike the other ballerinas, who came from family who afforded just enough to get by, Marie came from an extremely wealthy family. While the other girls had two or three old dresses and one for nice occasions, Marie had at least eight gowns made of the finest silk in all of France. Her shoes and fur trimmed coats were the latest style. The tiny pearls on her gloves made all the girls envious. And though Marie could probably afford to buy the opera house and the stables out back, she couldn't afford a lick of manners or a little something called 'respect'. She treated everyone like she was higher than them. She made sure that they knew that, too. She bullied the younger ballet rats shamelessly and often made them cry behind Madame Giry's back.

"Madame Giry?" Another ballerina asked.

"No you imbecile! Brigitte! Even the 'opera ghost' favours her. I hear the manager read the notes that the Opera Ghost writes. He demands that she be front and centre in everything! Listen what I'm going to do." Marie and the other girls leaned in to listen.

That night after a wonderful dinner of roasted chicken, peas, bread and a phenomenal dessert of chocolate cake had been served, Marie put her plan into action. Madame Giry was off to speak to the managers, so there was no one stopping Marie. But she spent more time trying to find Brigitte then she expected. Marie hoped that Madame Giry wouldn't be back for a while. She later found Brigitte on the grand staircase steps reading the playbill of the newest play that the opera house would put on.

"Brigitte! Brigitte! Help me!" One of the ballerinas called. Brigitte stood, walked over and asked, "What is it Alexandra?"

"I dropped my toy down in the cellars! I was playing with my special pink bouncy ball and it fell down, down, down!" Alexandra wailed. She threw her small round face into her small hands and cried.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll get it for you." Brigitte replied. Meg, who had come down from her room, grabbed her arm and hastily whispered, "No, Brigitte! No one goes down in the cellars!"

"What's there to fear?" Brigitte asked. She grabbed her black shawl from a peg and wrapped it around herself. She then found a candle and lit it, before venturing to the cellars. Marie and the other ballerinas followed as Brigitte opened the door to the cellars. When the doors flew open, a large cloud of dust made all the girls sneeze and cough. It was dark and there was an eery sound. Brigitte had every right to be scared. Just from how much dust fell from the doors, it told how long the doors had never been touched. With a determined look, Brigitte hugged the shawl tighter around her petite figure. She took a deep breath and held the candle out.

"Are you scared, Brigitte?" Marie purred. All the ballerinas behind her giggled.

"Who wouldn't be?" Brigitte asked, as she went down, cautiously. She went down each step with careful caution and looked around for the ball. She knew how much Alexandra loved her ball. The other girls walked away but Meg stayed. Once they were far enough away (far away meant two floors up in the ballet rats dormitory) Marie turned to Alexandra.

"Wonderful job, Alexandra. Here's the candy I promised you. Remember, not a word." Marie turned to the other ballerina rats, as Alexandra nodded and hurried away to play with her favorite pink bouncy ball that was safely tucked away in the blankets on her bed. "Brigitte will surely get nabbed by the opera ghost or fall and get injured for tomorrow's performance. I'll be right in for the position." Marie smiled and waltzed away.

"Brigitte? Have you found the ball? Brigitte? Brigitte!" Meg yelled. No reply came back. Meg ran to find her mother.

Deep down, Brigitte kept on walking, determined to find the ball. She suddenly started slip, uncontrollably. She let out a small cry as she suddenly plunged into icy water. Brigitte didn't know how to swim and felt herself sinking. She was starting to choke on the murky water, as she shivered. She was slowly losing consciousness and she felt her limbs go numb. After all, it was December and the water was made frigid by the weather. She didn't hear the splash or see the dive of a man, nor did she feel a pair of strong arms lift her out of the water. Her world went dark.

**Ooh, my first cliffie! So terribly sorry. I usually hate it when fantastic writers do this to me, but it keeps me interested and it keeps me anticipating the next chapter. So, I'll tell you what: If I get five reviews on this chapter by Thursday night, I'll post a bonus chapter on Saturday, as to not keep you waiting an entire week. If not, I'll wait until next Tuesday. Thanks to everyone! Please r&r, favorite and follow. I appreciate every single one! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello to everyone! So, I got four reviews and one favorite. Which makes me so happy I **_**was **_**planning to post a chapter on Saturday, despite not getting five reviews, just to be nice, but I found out that I didn't even have time. So, here I am, on a Tuesday, posting once more. And, if you remember correctly, last week's chapter was a cliffie. Anyways, here is the rest: **

What on earth was Brigitte doing down in the cellars? Erik wondered. He stepped onto the shores where his home was. Brigitte was soaked to the skin, unconscious. It was nearly winter time and the water was frigid. He knew that it was important to get the wet clothes off of her, to make her warmer. Erik was used to the cold, but Brigitte was not. Despite her being unconscious, Erik embarrassedly worked to remove her dress, knowing she had layers of petticoats and a corset underneath. He then put her in the large swan bed and covered her with many blankets. He stoked the fire in his room and left her to warm up some soup.

When Brigitte woke up, she didn't know where she was. She was warm. Very warm. Slowly, everything came back to her. Yes, she had been looking for Alexandra's ball as she had slipped into frigid water. She then looked down to notice that her dress was gone and she was in her petticoats and corset. Her dress was drying near the fire. A tray of steaming soup and a cup of tea was beside her. She sat up immediately and started to eat, when Erik came in. Brigitte quickly gathered up the covers and sank down until the covers were over her shoulders.

"Where am I?" Asked Brigitte.

"In my home, my dear Brigitte." Erik replied, walking onwards a chair. He pulled it up beside her and sat down. Brigitte studied him as he was moving the chair. He was a thin tall bony man. He had slick black hair and a white mask that covered half his face. It was just like her dream! He wore a tuxedo, and wore a gold ring on his finger. Surprisingly he, in her opinion, was rather handsome. She learned to accept people as they were. She had been what Marie would call an "ugly duckling" growing up. But as described by her dear friend Meg, she had turned from an "ugly duckling" to a "swan that decided to spread her wings". So Brigitte firmly decided not to judge on appearances.

"Your home?" Brigitte looked at her surroundings. The room was actually rather drab. The walls were stone and unfriendly. The cold floor had no kind of rug to keep anyones bare feet from freezing. The bed was small with a thin comforter. There were at least three wool blankets that she was swabbed in.

"Yes. Do you not know where you are, mademoiselle?" Erik asked. His face under the mask scrunched up in confusion.

"No, Monsieur." Brigit pushed her long brown curls out of her face. They didn't agree with what their master wanted and fell back in her face. Erik tried to stifle a smile and a chuckle.

"Well, then I guess you must find out. You are under the Palais Garnier." Erik explained. The adorable gawk on her face was worth him telling her the truth.

"What?" Brigitte wondered aloud in awe. Erik let out a laugh. The look that appeared on Brigitte's face scared him. It was a look of recognition.

"You're him! You're the opera ghost! I recognize your laugh! Please don't hurt me!" Brigitte shielded herself in fear, in the process letting the covers fall to reveal her tightly laced corset. Erik gently pulled down Brigitte's arms and asked softly, "Would I hurt you if I just saved your life?" Biting her lip, Brigitte slowly replied, "No I guess not. How do you know my name?" Erik let out a soft chuckle, and replied, "My dear girl, I torment the opera house, I'm sure I have heard your name a thousand times. Now, you need to eat and go to sleep." Brigitte remembered the soup and quickly ate it all, due to the aching of her stomach. "I don't think I will be able to fall asleep, Monsieur." Erik rose and left the room, only to come back with his violin. While he did that, Brigitte realized the covers had slipped and she sank back down, letting only her head to be visible.

"Well then let this lullaby put you to sleep." Erik lifted the bow to the strings and started play. Brigitte lifted her eyes in recognition. It was the tune that she had remembered from a long time ago. Everyone note was accurate. She started to say something, but was interrupted by a soft yawn. Brigitte soon found her eyes drooping it wasn't long before she fell into a deep sleep. Erik played a little longer to be sure that she was in a deep slumber, before exiting. He put the violin on the table and sat down to face the fire in the fireplace. The flames danced and messed with Erik's mind. The flames looked like Brigitte leaping and dancing on stage. The past came back and made Erik shudder. He surely couldn't get too close to Brigitte. She was already having dreams about him, and remember the music _and _the mask. She wouldn't need much more proof to prove that he had raised her. Erik stood and went into the room with a tray of hot soup and a cup of tea. He set it on the rickety old nightstand and added more wood to the fire. As he stoked it, he heard Brigitte mumbling in her sleep.

"Play it again…. Please…. Don't leave…. Come back…. Don't leave me….." Brigitte mumbled. She thrusted her arms a bit as if she was running. Erik took her arms and gently laid them flat on her stomach and pulled the covers back over her. As he closed the door, he knew Antoinette wouldn't be far behind to find Brigitte.

Antoinette made her way down the cellar, telling Meg to go practice with the other ballerinas until she got back. She knew that if Brigitte had slipped into the lake by accident, Erik surely would have rescued her. She found Erik stoking the fire.

"Erik, is she here?" Antoinette asked, worried.

"Yes. She fell into the lake. I rescued her and she's sleeping in the extra room." Erik replied, standing to full height. He had expanded his home to add on three more rooms. One contained the swan bed where Brigitte was sleeping.

"Have you told her?" Antoinette followed him to the table where he poured her a cup of tea. She took the cup gratefully and sipped it. She didn't know how Erik survived winter in the cold damp cave. She knew she couldn't.

"No she figured it out." Erik walked to where he had put his extra wood. He inspected many of the logs and decided on three good-sized ones, before tossing them into the fireplace.

"You told her that you rescued her from dying on the streets and that you raised her?" Antoinette asked, quizzically. She couldn't believe it. No, she _wouldn't _believe it. Erik was much too private to let her know. And she was right, when she heard Erik's reply.

"No! I mean, well, she's knows that I'm the opera ghost. She'll never know that it was me who raised her for six small months of her life." Erik shook his head.

Brigitte woke up to hearing Erik and a woman talking. She recognized Antoinette's voice. _Madame Giry? How did she find her way down? Did she fall in the lake too? Did the Opera Ghost save her? _She gathered one of the red wool blankets around her petite figure and headed toward the door. She was just in time to hear Erik say "She'll never know that it was me who raised her for six small months."

"What do you mean?" Brigitte stepped out. Both Erik and Antoinette turned to her in great shock.

"I won't lie to her." Erik whispered to Antoinette, hoarsely. "I can't. I can't do that to her. She doesn't deserve it. She deserves to know the truth." Antoinette nodded, trying to be calm, "Erik, are you sure?" He nodded, slowly, though he certainly didn't look ready. He was pale and his movements were stiff. Erik was really going to tell her the truth. After sixteen years. He walked over to Brigitte and took her hand. He led both of them to a large sofa where they both sat down. Antoinette stood behind Brigitte. Erik took a breath, before starting his story.

"It was a rainy day sixteen years ago. I was walking back from the market with a basket of parcels. I was going to slip back into my home when I heard a baby's cry. Under many broken crates was a baby. I took the baby to my home and raised her as my own. No one came for her. There was no note or anything. I raised her for six months before I couldn't any longer. I named that baby girl Brigitte." Erik whispered. Brigitte turned to look at Antoinette and asked, "What? Is he saying that he saved my life and raised me for six months and named me? Then he gave me to you?"

"Yes. I promised not to tell a soul, not even you." Antoinette braced herself and waited for Brigitte to start yelling or to start crying, but neither came. She turned to Erik, who was crying softly. He couldn't look either of them in the eye.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Brigitte put a soft hand to Erik's cheek that wasn't covered by his mask.

"You deserve better. Better than this." Erik touched his mask. All of a sudden he felt it being lifted. He quickly winced, gasped and put a hand over his deformed face to cover it. He felt Brigitte's fingers gently pry away his hand. He heard her gasp, but he didn't feel her hands draw back in any way. Erik squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to watch Brigitte die when she saw his face. He wouldn't be able to bear the rejection. But instead, he felt her thumb gently rub the twisted deformed skin.

"Oh, Erik." Brigitte whispered. Tears glistened in both of their eyes. Erik tried to swat his away, but Brigitte didn't do a thing to stop hers. After sixteen years of her life, Brigitte thought that she had simply been found on the streets and Antoinette had raised her. At least, that was the story that she had been told countless times. But that was a lie. A man, a masked deformed man had saved her from death and raised her for six months before he had to give her up to a kind woman to raise. Though her beginning was a lie, it didn't make Brigitte angry. In fact, it made her even more thankful than she had been in years. She had always felt a sense of abandonment and emptiness in her heart and the pit of her stomach. Antoinette had always reassured her that it was her missing her parents. In truth, that sense of abandonment and emptiness had come from Erik. Yes, she didn't feel that feeling now. She felt….. complete.

"He was only thirteen when he found you. He was a child raising a child." Antoinette put a hand to Brigitte's shoulder.

"How old would that make you?" Brigitte asked Erik. She didn't mean to pry, but she was curious.

"Twenty-nine." Erik mumbled. Yes, he was getting older. Yes, he was getting to be an old man.

"And your music! It teases at my ears! I remember that lullaby. I was going to play it for my debut. I played it when the managers Andre and Firmin gave me a chance.

"Yes. And I heard you. I cried, Brigitte, I cried. You remembered! Every note, every chord! I spoke to you in the dressing room, too." Erik replied.

"Yes, I remember. And you must have been that unknown friend!" Brigitte started to piece everything together. Yes, everything from the violin music, the dreams, the outfit, the voice and the new shoes that she found on her bed that afternoon. They had all been from her own guardian angel who was always watching over her. Before Erik could reply, Brigitte brought her arms around him in a tight embrace. He tensed up, completely. Brigitte felt it, but didn't let go of her grip. Erik didn't know how his arms came to be around Brigitte, but, they were. Though his embrace was awkward, he still half-hugged her. His eyes turned to look at Antoinette, who was trying not to cry.

"I hope you won't think of me as your daughter. Think of me, as, as, more of a friend. You're not old enough to be my Papa anyways." Brigitte pulled back and laughed, happily.

"That is true." Erik replied, slowly. "Okay. As a friend. And as a friend, you may visit me when you wish. I can't, however, promise that I will always be home. During performances, I'll be in Box 5 and when things don't happen _my _way, I shall be in the rafters. But, the first thing I need to teach you is how to come down the tunnel without falling into the lake. Then I'll teach you how to steer the gondola." He tried to think of what Brigitte could do to come visit him, to make her trip easier. Secretly, he would lie to have Brigitte visit him more often. He knew all the traps he had set up and would have to show Brigitte where each one was hidden. He didn't even know how Brigitte managed to evade all of his traps. Brigitte was a little surprised to see how Erik's emotions and attitude could change so quickly. He led Brigitte to the lake where the gondola was. He helped her in and he sat down on the seat.

"Alright, take the oar and try to row it." Erik commanded. To his surprise, she did it with little hassle. He looked at her, obviously impressed.

"I guess some of the work I did in the opera house improved my strength." Brigitte smiled, embarrassedly. Antoinette smiled as she watched on. They were quite a pair. Who ever thought that a man of the devil and an innocent angel from Heaven could be such a pair together?

"Alright, do it again." Erik instructed.

"Like this?" Brigitte asked. She saw Erik nod in approval. They rowed back and forth a few times, Brigitte doing it at easily as Erik did.

"Now that you have the hang of it, I'll row back." Erik and Brigitte tried to switch roles, but it was not easy.

"Okay, how do we-," Brigitte mumbled.

"Here, try this way-," Erik took her arms to propel her around him.

"I don't think that's going to work-," Brigitte told him.

"It will, it-," Erik didn't get a chance to finish. The gondola tilted and Brigitte let out a cry as she and Erik fell into the lake. Somehow, Brigitte managed to jump into Erik's arms before she fell in and therefore she was lifted from the water. They took one look at each other and burst out in laughter.

"Just after we both got dry." Erik told her, dryly. When Erik got to the shallow part of the lake, he set Brigitte on her feet.

"You lost your mask." Brigitte pointed out."

"No, it's right here." Erik nodded to where it lay in the bottom of he gondola. Antoinette smiled to herself. No, indeed Erik was not like a papa to Brigitte. She smelled a rose of friendship budding. As Erik led Brigitte to where the fire was, he disappeared and brought out a tray with tea and cakes and biscuits. He then disappeared again. He reappeared about ten minutes later in dry clothing. Antoinette had gone up and brought down a dry dress for Brigitte.

"We should go up. The ballet rats have been left alone too long. They're probably off flirting with the stage hands." Antoinette sighed. She took Brigitte's arm and brought her along.

"Good-bye Monsieur Erik. I hope to see you soon." Brigitte told him as Antoinette led her away. Indeed the ballet rats were not practicing. The girls were backstage, some of them sitting on some of the stagehands laps. Madame Giry banged down on her cane as the girls gasped. Marie jumped off the stagehands lap. Her eyes widened to see Brigitte was alive and well. Only her hair was damp and her dress was changed. That night, Brigitte heard the girls whispering about her in their beds, but she didn't care. She spent her night thinking about Erik and her past. She smiled at the thought of Erik. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go back down to read after ballet practice with a cup of tea. The lair was a quiet place for her, where no one would disturb her. So that was exactly what she did. No one questioned her, no one bothered to even talk to her the next day. Only Meg, who repeated her question of if she was okay all day. When Brigitte came to the shore of Erik's lair, in a way, she felt that she was intruding. But Erik wasn't there. Brigitte sat on the cold ground in front of the fire and opened her book. She didn't dare move anything out of its original place. Not even a pillow or a blanket for her to put on the cold dirty floor. After an hour Brigitte felt her eyes drooping. She shook herself awake, and did this several times, before they drooped even more. Before she knew it, she fell asleep.

**Okay, I wouldn't call this a "cliffie" but more exciting times are coming up for Brigitte and Erik. And if he doesn't seem "crazy" enough to be like the real Phantom, just wait, dear readers, just wait. There is more drama to come. You'll just have to wait a couple weeks…Maybe a few… *Evil grin* ;) I want to thank everyone for the lovely reviews and the followers and the favoriters. You all don't know how much I appreciate it! I was thinking about starting a QOTW which stands for "Question of the week" since I only post once a week. So, I here's the first one: What is your favorite version of POTO and why? So review, follow, favorite, etc. Thank you all so much! I love you all! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone! Here's chapter 7. It's a bit of a boring chapter, I suppose, like all the other ones I've done. But get ready for some surprises. You'll meet a new character in this chapter and see a little bit of Erik's dark side, and Brigitte's feisty side. Thank you so much to all who have reviewed, favorited and followed. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! **

Erik slowly rowed across the lake in silence. When he got to the other side and tied the gondola up, he saw a startling sight. Brigitte was on the cold hard ground in front of the fireplace asleep. A dark red book was beside her, along with a china cup of now-cold tea. Nothing had been touched or disturbed in his lair. _Why didn't she grab a blanket or a pillow? _Erik then figured that Brigitte thought that he would be angry if she moved anything. For goodness sake, she had brought her own china cup and saucer filled with her own tea. Though she looked at peace, Erik knew the ground was cold and uncomfortable. He gingerly picked her up as carried her to the settee. Erik felt her breath fan his scarred chest. Her perfume was a light scent of orange, cinnamon, and another smell he couldn't define. Trying desperately not to inhale that lovely scent, Erik rushed to the settee. No, Erik didn't need that intoxicating smell in his mind. He laid her down and threw a red wool blanket over her, along with placing a pillow under her head. When he leaned over her to pull the blanket over her shoulders, he couldn't hold his breath in any longer unless he wanted to pass out. That smell filled his nostrils. Ah, it was heavenly. He then put her book on the side table and took her cup and saucer to make some fresh warm tea. He came back out with a tray of fresh hot tea, cakes, biscuits and sandwiches. He set it down before seating himself with his own cup of tea. Erik tried to read and ignore the sleeping beauty across from him, but it was nearly impossible. So Erik just stared. Her face was smooth and white. Her eyelashes made little fans around her eyes. Her lips were small and pink. Her hair was long and wavy. Erik wondered if felt as soft as it looked. He forced himself to drop his eyes, but gave up reading. He went to his violin and started playing. He knew not where he would start, but the tune seemed to come directly from his soul. It was a bitter tune, yet beautiful. It sounded so complicated and truly it was not. As he played a measure, he hastily scribbled it down on some paper. He was still composing about an hour later when Brigitte started to stir.

"Oh, Monsieur! Forgive me, I didn't mean to fall asleep!" Brigitte woke with a start. She immediately started to toss the blanket off and was getting ready to leave, before Erik stopped her.

"No, no, stay. It's quite alright." assured he, as he gestured to the still hot tea on the tray. Brigitte poured herself a cup and watched Erik gather up his sheets of music. He was certainly like no other man she had ever met. He was eccentric, for sure. But in the same way he was such a genius. She picked up a biscuit and gnawed on it, a bad habit of hers.

"Why do you stare?" Erik asked, fidgeting as he sat back down. Immediately, Brigitte dropped her pretty green eyes and apologized, "Forgive me, Monsieur."

"Do you feel the need to apologize for _everything_?" Erik questioned. A pink blush fell over Brigitte's smooth cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, I didn't realize that I was doing that." Brigitte accidentally apologized again. Erik gave her an incredulous stare that made her realize she had done it again. They sat uncomfortably in silence for a while, before Brigitte stood.

"I best be going, dinner is being served soon." She started to fold up the blanket, but Erik waved her away.

"I can take care of this." Erik took the blanket from her grasp. Brigitte tried to protest but headed to where the gondola was. She went to the lake and turned to see Erik busily putting everything back in place. She got in and rowed on. What she didn't know, was that Erik was following her through the walls. Brigitte came up and went to the back stage. Antoinette was with the ballet rats and there was a young girl, about Brigitte's age standing in the middle. She had curly brown hair that fell a little below her shoulder blades, crystal blue eyes and a small smile. Dressed in a plain blue dress and old straw hat with flowers, her outfit was nothing incredibly beautiful or special. The white stockings she wore had seen better days, and her slightly worn and scuffed shoes showed their age. Yet the girl made them beautiful. Beside her was a small tan traveling case with gold metal corners and a small carpet mahogany bag.

"Ah, Brigitte, come meet our newest ballerina. This is Christine Daaé." Antoinette smiled. Brigitte immediately smiled and replied, "Hello, Mademoiselle Christine Daaé." Erik stopped in his tracks as he saw Christine. She was a beautiful creature, indeed. With introductions done, Antoinette showed Christine to the ballet dormitory. Erik didn't mind following. To Christine, it was depressing sight. The walls were concrete, and the floor was wood and cold. Beds were lined against the wall along with a small nightstand beside each one. There were two large wardrobes on one wall, and three on the other. The beds were iron and old and creaky. Each bed consisted of an old feather pillow plain white sheets and a thin gray comforter. Some of the beds had small trunks at the foot of the bed, some of the beds had traveling cases under. But one bed stood out amongst the others. It was the one in the corner, the nearest one to the full entrance. It was Marie's. Her parents insisted that she had the finest of all things, and she be near the corner so that the drafts wouldn't disturb her when she slept. Her bed was iron and shiny and new. Her pillowcases, sheets, comforter were made of the finest pink silk. A matching rug was on both sides of her bed. Her nightstand was more of a vanity. It had a large mirror attached to the desk and a chair. There were hand mirrors, make-up and combs sprawled out everywhere. The open third wardrobe was obviously only Marie's. It was filled with at least ten or eleven gowns, five pairs of shoes, three fine hats, the drawers were probably filled with jewelry, gloves, stockings and undergarments. Christine eyed Marie's space in envy. Marie smiled at her and replied, "Here, you can wear one of my practice outfits for tomorrow." She trotted to her wardrobe and pulled out a fine white ballet outfit. Brigitte and Meg gave each other a look that they both understood.

"Really? Thank you!" Christine smiled.

"This is your bed, right here." Antoinette motioned to the one on the right side of Marie's bed. She left the ballerinas to themselves, as they gathered around Christine while she unpacked. Christine had three dresses, two more pairs of shoes, undergarments, two pairs of stockings and a coat. To Brigitte, Christine was not even close to being extremely 'poor'. To this day, Brigitte had only two dresses, two sets of undergarments, one pair of shoes, not counting her ballet slippers, one pair of stockings that had holes in the toes and soles and a coat that was much too small on her. Erik watched Christine carefully. He would have to have Brigitte do him some favours.

The next day, Erik hurried to the rafters to watch Christine from above. He was disappointed that she was not there. He muttered something under his breath, when suddenly he heard steps. But it was too late to move.

"Monsieur Erik?" Brigitte whispered.

"What are you doing in the rafters?" Erik demanded, feeling annoyed. Brigitte, who had not slept well from Marie's snoring and whispered conversations with Christine until the wee early morning hours, snapped back, "A stage hand left his tools up here. I offered to get them, thank you." The annoyance drained out of Erik's eyes and out of his complete being. Yes, Brigitte was certainly a firecracker when she wanted to be one. He immediately softened, and his jaw was now unclenched. She saw a bit of remorse in his attitude.

"Forgive me, little one, that was quite rude of me." Erik apologized. The anger lines in Brigitte's face smoothed down, and she replied, "It's quite alright. I'm afraid I haven't had a good nights rest. I become crabby when it happens." She started to move away, but Erik grabbed her arm, gently.

"Brigitte, I'm in need of a favour. I need you to find out about Christine for me. Do it and I'll give you something in return." Erik told her.

"I can do it without anything in return. It's call a favour, not a debt." Brigitte smiled before she left. Erik looked down to see that Christine had arrived. Her hair was style liked Marie's and she even wore the ballet outfit that Marie had lent her. Throughout the practice, Erik kept his eyes directly on Christine. She had talent, but he felt that she could be something amazing if she only had the chance. _He _would be that chance for it. _He _would make it happen. But he also knew he would need to enlist the help of Brigitte. That afternoon, when Christine was all alone in the dormitory, she dug out the picture of her now-deceased father.

"Oh, Papa." Christine hugged the picture to her chest. She softly started to sing.

_ Wishing you were somehow here again._

_ Wishing you were somehow near._

_ Sometimes it seemed-_

"MADEMOISELLE! Would you kindly stop?" Firmin rubbed his ears. The poor young girl jumped in surprise, swallowed hard and nodded. Firmin headed back down the stairs. Inside the walls, Erik was mixing a plan. Her voice was good. It needed some work for sure, but it was something he could work with. But how, how would he teach her a little bit of Heaven's music? He then looked at Marie's large mirror. That was it. Erik disappeared to go back to his lair and plot his plan. It was ingenious. Now, his plan would go off without a hitch…. _with_ a little bit of Brigitte's help. So he caught Brigitte when she was in the kitchen. Brigitte had come down to find some crackers, when suddenly the room started to spin. When Brigitte's sights turned back to normal, she was in Erik's lair. _What on earth?_ Brigitte thought. Looking around, she spotted Erik who was hanging up his cape. He took her by the arm and dragged her to the table.

"I am in need of your help _again_." Erik growled. How was he going to keep his plan from Brigitte, _while_ she helped him? "But first," he indicated that they sit down. The tray of usual tea, biscuits, tea cakes and finger sandwiches was in the middle. "what have you found out about Christine?"

"Well, first off, she's sixteen like me. Her mother died in childbirth and her father died about a month or so ago. She's Swedish and her father was the famous violinist, Gustave Daaé. She likes fancy things and is a bit of a diva, now that she's around Marie. Her ballet skills are wonderful and she is extremely quiet. She is kind, pretty and is aways hanging around Marie. That should tell you the rest." Brigitte picked up a biscuit. Indeed, she had done her homework. It took some kind respectful prying, but she managed to do her job. Erik was slightly impressed, but he made sure that his look didn't show it. He scribbled all of these things down on a piece of paper as fast as Brigitte spoke them. He then leaned down and brought out a white dress. It had long sleeves, a full bosom with etched designs, and skirt that went down to her ankles. Indeed, it was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.

"There is your payment for today's task." Erik laid it on the table and continued to scribble his plan down. Brigitte fingered the fabric, when his voice boomed, "Do you find it, _not _to your liking?" Jumping, Brigitte softly replied, "No. It's the most beautiful gown I've ever seen. Since the pink one you gave me for my debut of course." She looked as if she were in a trance. _Your _ruined_ debut. _Erik thought to himself. That was when more of a plan came to him. This time, Firmin would not disturb his plan at all.

"Have you heard Christine sing at all?" Erik asked, innocently.

"No. I've heard her hum once in a while." Brigitte told him.

"Well, she has a lovely voice. Take her to the chapel tomorrow and then leave her there alone." Erik commanded. As much as Brigitte wanted to know why, the look on Erik' face told her that she better not ask. So Brigitte took her leave after she nodded.

"Pointe, pointe pointe!" Antoinette barked. The ballet rats seemed so distracted this morning! But mostly, it was Brigitte.

"Brigitte! Pay attention!" Antoinette slammed her stick to the ground, making all of the ballet rats jump. Even the stagehands did. One was on a ladder and started to wobble at the sharp sound of it. Brigitte purposely moved closer to spy on Christine and Marie's conversation to relay the message back to Erik. But it was nothing. Only a conversation of what the girls would do if they had all the money in the world. Rolling her eyes, Brigitte kept on practicing.

"All of you are a mess! Tomorrow, we have double practice!" Antoinette ordered. She was tired of these girls slacking off. All of the ballerinas started to protest, but the sound of her stick silenced them all. While all the girls headed to change, Antoinette pulled Brigitte aside.

"Brigitte, you must pay attention in rehearsals. What has been on your mind?" Antoinette asked. Normally, Brigitte was a role model for the younger ballerinas. She always paid attention and worked as hard as she could. Today, she had been, rather distracted. _Erik knows Madame Giry. He won't mind if I tell her._ Brigitte's mind reassured her. So she told Antoinette.

"Alright. Do as he asks, or things will start happening again." Antoinette nodded. Brigitte hurried away to catch Christine.

"Christine! Would you like to go to the chapel with me?" Brigitte asked, innocently. Christine agreed and they set out. Brigitte took Christine to the chapel. The chapel was dark and empty. The room that they were in wasn't huge. In fact, it was rather small. Not even a pastor or a priest was in sight. The pews sat empty and the only light was from the stained glass window near the ceiling. It put a beautiful colorful reflection where Christine stood. The colors danced on her brown hair.

"Alright, can you sing, now? No one is around." Brigitte asked, as she sat in the back pew. It would make an easy escape for her. Slowly, the girl nodded and turned away from her and began to sing. Brigitte slid out of her seat and took careful silent steps backward before she left the chapel. That was when Erik came into the picture. He had been waiting for Brigitte and saw that she did as she asked. He nodded to himself as Brigitte left.

"Christine." Erik whispered. The poor girl gasped and cried out, "Brigitte! Where are you? Who's there? Who are you?"

"Christine. Christine." Erik whispered again. A look of recognition hit Christine.

"Oh, you are the Angel of Music! My father told me 'When I am in Heaven, child, I will send to you the Angel of Music'. So it is you! Are you the Angel of Music?" Christine asked.

"Yes, Christine. I am here. Your Angel of Music. Sing for me, now!" Erik's soft tone ordered. And that was what Christine did. They did that for hours. Suddenly, Christine looked to see that the sun was setting.

"Oh my! I'm late for dinner!" Christine grabbed her blue cloak.

"Come back tomorrow for more lessons at three o'clock in the afternoon." Erik ordered, gently. He watched Christine nod and hurry out of the chapel.

In the opera house, when Christine rushed in, everyone was at dessert. Antoinette gave her a stern look but said nothing. Brigitte wasn't at the dinner table, either. Christine hurried to wash her hands, before she slid into the seat next to Marie and started to eat.

Deep underground, Brigitte rowed across the lake. When she got to the shore, she heard a snap and a shout of pain. She hurried to see Erik clutching his arm. Blood seeped through his white shirt.

"Erik!" Brigitte hurried to his side. Erik tried to push her away and snapped, "I'm fine. Go away."

"Your arm and your face begs to differ." Brigitte guided him to his chair. Erik rolled his eyes and sat down. He had been thinking about Christine, hearing her voice in his head, when he stepped into his own trap. The blade of the knife was quick and sharp. The feel of the metal slicing his skin burned. He felt like a complete imbecile. Who would have though: the famous Opera Ghost stepping into his own trap. Brigitte dug into his cabinets, making quite a bit of noise.

"Get out of there, now!" Erik hollered, gritting his teeth.

"I'm looking for bandages and salve." Brigitte found what she was looking for. She knelt in front of Erik and told him, "Take off your shirt." She watched Erik stiffen and he shook his head and replied, "No."

"Do it. I need to bandage your arm." Brigitte calmly instructed again.

_"No."_ Erik snapped, stubbornly. He watched a spark of irritation jump into Brigitte's green eyes, that looked ready to shoot fire.

"How am I suppose to bandage your arm if you won't take it off?" Brigitte demanded. Erik smiled sarcastically and replied, "That's just it. You're not suppose to. I can do it myself."

"For the love of God, Erik, _take it off!_" Brigitte shouted. They both stood and got into a screaming argument, both of them shouting at the top of their lungs, and flailing their arms around, proving their own points.

"Alright, you want to see?" Erik screamed. He yanked off his shirt, "There." Brigitte gasped and took a step back. His bony frail chest was filled with scars. They were everywhere. Big ones, little ones, ones that went across his entire chest. Despite the large muscles on his arms, his ribcage could be completely seen. Every bone in the rib-cage was easy to spot. Before her eyes, Erik had grabbed her around the neck.

"Is this what you wanted to see, hm? Curse you!" Erik threw her to the ground. It didn't hurt Brigitte, but for a moment, it did scare her. He turned around and she watched him shake with sobs, his hand leaning on his chair for support. She stood, brushed the dirt off her dress, and put a hand to his back. With a quick move, Erik whirled around and grabbed her wrist with such force, she winced at the pain. She put a hand to his hand that was holding her other and softly told him, "It's alright. I'm going to help you." Brigitte felt his grip loosen, as she guided him back to the chair. She cleansed the wound, as Erik shouted in pain.

"Why can't you be more gentle?" Erik barked at her. Brigitte was not intimidated and replied, "Tell that to the ointment." Erik smirked, as she rubbed salve on it and bandaged it up. With that, Brigitte put all of the bandages and salve away. She was about to leave, when Erik grabbed her. This time it was gentle.

"Your dress…It has blood all over it." Erik mumbled. Brigitte looked down to see that, indeed, her dress was spattered with dirt and blood. Her hands were also stained red.

"I'll slip it into the wash, hopefully no one will notice." Brigitte gently shrugged her arm out of his grasp.

"Brigitte?" Erik called to her before she could step into the gondola. When she turned to him, he told her "Thank you." Erik watched her nod and row away.

**And there it is! QOTW: What's your opinion on the 2004 version of POTO? I hope you are all enjoying the story, as much as I, as the writer, am. It may seem completely boring at the moment, but things will start to take wing. Not in the next chapter, but the next, it's going to be utter chaos. Anywho, thanks for reading and enjoy your week! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello to all! Sadly, last week's chapter was a bit of a let down, and it showed. I only got two reviews and I think one follow/favorite. I'm super grateful to my continuous readers, and all, and I hope the next two chapters will get more reads and reviews. Now, I'll warn you that this chapter is following the musical quite a bit. But it will soon go back to my way of writing it, so don't fret. I am, though, a little worried at the pace of my readers and reviewers. It's going a little slower than some stories on here that within one chapter, where they take flight and get ten reviews and ten followers/favorites. I don't really know. Maybe mine is just coming a little slower. Is there anything I could do to improve, or is there something lacking? PM me, if you can some instructive criticism or some advice. Now, onto the story. **

The next day Brigitte tried her best to stay away from Christine. She felt bad about abandoning her at the chapel, and she hoped that the girl wouldn't ask why. But Christine was off in her own little world. She wouldn't even speak to Marie. The gleam in her blue eyes looked dreamy, and Brigitte knew it was something Erik had done. So that afternoon, Brigitte decided to follow Christine to the chapel. When Christine went in, Brigitte hid behind Christine's cloak and ducked into the last pew without being spotted by Erik or Christine. It took a while for Brigitte to find a comfortable position, but once she did, she didn't move a muscle. She kept her breathing quiet, though it was hard. Erik's voice boomed and Christine small voice replied. They immediately started to sing together in perfect harmony. _His voice. So sweet. So melodic. _Brigitte thought. His voice made her want to sing, herself. Brigitte stayed at the chapel for two hours, and finally Christine left. Brigitte stayed a while longer to make sure that Erik was gone and she could leave without being noticed. For six months, Brigitte went to listen to Christine and Erik have their daily music lessons. But one day when she arrived back at the opera house, there was a commotion. La Carlotta, the Prima Donna was fussing over a backdrop dropping not a foot behind her. Rolling her eyes, Brigitte made her way to the stage where Meg was standing. Andre, Firmin, Buquet, Piangi, Reyer and Madame Giry were also there.

"These things do happen." Andre tried to make light of the situation.

"_'These things do happen'_?" Carlotta screeched. "Until you fix these _things _from happening, I will _not _sing, I will _not _perform!" With that, Carlotta fled the stage in tears. Her husband Piangi followed, but not before he sneered and declared, "Amateurs!"

"We have no understudy!" Reyer snapped. "What are we going to do?" Brigitte yanked Christine forward and replied, "Christine Daaé can sing it. Her father was the famous violinist Gustave Daaé." Christine gave her a panicked look. Brigitte backed away, leaving Christine in centre stage.

"Ha! The last time I heard this ballet rat sing, she was a _disgrace_!" Firmin huffed. Erik, up in the rafters, rolled his eyes. He also couldn't mask his surprise that Brigitte volunteered Christine, though he was truly impressed at Brigitte's risk of looking like a fool. Brigitte watched Christine blush a deep shade of red.

"That was months ago!" Brigitte spoke up again. "Give her a chance." Firmin and Brigitte had a hard severe stare-down, before Firmin stomped his foot like a toddler and whined, "Fine. We shall see!" Reyer went to the piano on the right side of the stage and started at the beginning of the aria. Brigitte handed Christine the scarf before everyone cleared to either side of the stage.

"Think of me. Think of me fondly, when we've said good-bye." Christine looked for a way to escape, and tried to run off, but was stopped by Antoinette's slam of her stick and Brigitte's hands motioning for her to keep singing. "Remember me, every so often, promise me you'll try." This was the point where Christine's voice rose. "On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me." Turning to her right, Brigitte smirked to see Firmin's eyes about to pop out of their sockets. Andre was smiling proudly. Erik smiled to himself. _All of my hard work and effort has paid off. Ah, Christine. _But inside his mind, there was also a thought inside his mind that screamed, _It was because of Brigitte, you fool. You trained her, but if Brigitte would never had pushed her forward and volunteered her, Christine wouldn't have even been given a chance! _Erik smiled a little at the thought, knowing deep inside his heart that it was true. He would have to get something to thank her. From that day on, Christine was given the lead role in _Hannibal_. That night, when Brigitte went up to her bed, she collapsed, only to hear something crackle under her back. Her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion, she pulled back her bed cover and found a little brown paper bag. Opening it, the smell of milk chocolate filled her nostrils. Countless bricks of the brown goodness were in there. The bag was filled nearly to the brim. There was a note inside, which read _Thank You, Brigitte. You know what for. O.G.. _That was when all of the ballerina's came in, including Christine. Brigitte wasn't given half a second to hide what she had.

"What's that?" Marie demanded, strutting over to Brigitte's bedside.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Brigitte lied. Marie grabbed the brown paper bag, but got the note instead. Her eyes went wide and she screamed, _"O.G.? _What's in the bag, Brigitte? Or I'm screaming for Madame Giry!"

"She is already here." a voice behind the crowd of girls boomed. Everyone gasped and turned around. "What is the meaning of this nonsense?"

"Brigitte received a message from the _Opera Ghost_! I demanded to know what the ghost gave her!" Marie shrieked. Antoinette walked to where Brigitte sat on the side of her bed and held out her hand. Brigitte's knuckles had gone white from gripping the bag so tightly against her chest, but they regained colour when she gave up the bag to Antoinette. The older woman opened it and sighed, "For the love of God, ladies, they are _chocolates_!"

"Well listen to this: 'Thank You, Brigitte. You know what for. O.G.'. Is she his accomplice? I'm sure it was you who cut the backdrop down! Is that what he is thanking you for?" Marie hissed.

"That is impossible, Marie! She wasn't even here when it happened!" Meg insisted. A quick hit to the floor with her stick made everyone pay attention to Antoinette.

"Stop all of this nonsense. If I hear one more word about this note, this incident _or_ the Opera Ghost, I will make every, single one of you do a double practice tomorrow, am I understood?" 'Yes Madame Giry', was the echoed reply. All of a sudden, a huge sandbag dropped half a foot away from Marie. The diva let out the most un-ladylike shriek, before she hurried to her bed to change. Antoinette had looked up just in time to see the swish of Erik's cape. She sighed and left the room, shaking her head. All night, Brigitte could hear the whispers from all of the girls about her. Every time that she did, Brigitte would eat a brick of chocolate half the size of a marble. She wanted to ration the chocolate, because she couldn't afford it on her own.

The next two weeks after, Christine spent her time divided between two places. The Opera House practicing her ballet and singing and then at the chapel practicing with her Angel Of Music. She never even thanked Brigitte for what she had done. In fact, she had thanked Marie for only helping her with her ballet. Each day, Erik watched Christine practice. She sounded beautiful, and looked beautiful at that. _Just one more day to go._ Erik thought to himself. Later that day before dinner, all the girls received their costumes. All of the corps de ballet had the same costume. A corset top in red, green and gold fabrics and beaded straps, along with a matching string skirt. Christine's costume had the same corset top, but with a full red, green and gold skirt, along with the matching scarf and gold crown.

On opening night, they were sold out. Each and every seat had a person sitting in it. Each of the boxes were filled with people. All except Box 5. Erik lurked in the shadows and made himself comfortable to watch the performance. Behind the curtains, Christine was shaking out her nerves. Brigitte came up to her and wished her good luck. But Christine walked away to where Marie and the popular ballerinas were, instead. Brigitte thought she had saw Christine nod, but it had been entirely too brief for her to even be sure. The longer that Christine hung around Marie, the more she began to act like her. She began to laugh at the younger ballerinas, strut around, and do her hair all fancy, just like Marie. Erik sat back as the curtains opened. While watching, Erik made some mental notes. The dancing was terrible. Brigitte and Meg were the only ones who made it to Erik's good list. The singing was wonderful with Carlotta out of the picture. Christine was beautiful and stunning. When the curtains closed, Erik hurried away to Christine's dressing room. Unbeknownst to him, that the night would take a turn for the worst. Christine was bubbly as soon as she got off stage. Everyone was whispering about her.

"Why are you so happy, Christine?" Meg asked.

"No reason." Christine smiled. Brigitte pulled her over and asked, "Is it your Angel of Music?"

"How did you know?" Christine asked, alarmed.

"I heard his voice from outside your dressing room. He asked me to give you this." Brigitte handed her a red rose tied in a black silk ribbon. She knew that Christine probably wouldn't even believe her, so it didn't matter. Christine took the rose and hurried away, a smile on her face. She hurried to her dressing room and closed the door tight. She changed out of her large skirt and put on her dressing gown. As she took off her crown, she heard him sing, "Brava, brava, bravissima." Not a moment later, the door opened. In walked a young man. He was a well-built slender man, with hair with a slight wave. He wore a fine black suit and he had a rose in his hand.

"Hello, Christine Daaé." the man smiled.

"Monsieur? Do I know you from somewhere?" Christine stood quickly.

"Where is your red scarf, Little Lotte? Is it in the attic? In the attic where we told dark stories of the north and snacked on chocolates, maybe?" the man handed her the red rose.

"A red scarf, the attic? Little Lotte." Christine murmured, as her eyes widened and brightened. "Oh, Raoul! So it is you!" Erik fumed, as the two young friends continued to ramble. He snapped out of his thoughts, when Raoul declared, "Now, we go to supper."

"The Angel of Music is very strict." Christine grabbed Raoul's arm.

"I shan't keep you up late. You must change and I must get my hat. Two minutes! Little Lotte." Raoul exited, chuckling to himself.

"Things have changed Raoul!" Christine cried out to herself, knowing that Raoul couldn't hear her. Erik's voice boomed, "Insolent boy! This slave of fashion!" Then, Erik had an idea as he and Christine started to sing. With deep hypnotizing words, Erik sang, "I am your Angel of Music. Come to me Angel of Music. I am your Angel of Music, come to me Angel of Music." He held out his hand through the mirror, as Christine took it. Neither of them heard Raoul on the other side of the door trying to get in. Christine didn't realize what was happening. All she could remember is her in her dressing room, then everything spinning. Now before her was a dark tunnel with a masked man guiding her.

_In sleep he sang to me, _

_In dreams he came_

_That voice which calls to me and speaks my name _

They came to a lake, where Christine sat and the man rowed her across. Before her eyes, they came to the shore where Erik's lair was. Erik gently sang her to sleep. He laid her in the swan bed, she he sat down to compose on his organ. What he wasn't expecting was hearing Brigitte come down. Grabbing a black veil, Erik hung it around the swan bed to hide where Christine was. He silently prayed that Christine would not stir until Brigitte left.

"Monsieur?" Brigitte called. Erik stepped to the shore and voiced a meek greeting.

"I am sorry to disturb you, and I won't stay long, but I wanted to thank you for the sweets. They were, they _are_ delicious." Brigitte smiled, kindly. She was in her usual white dress, her hair hanging long down her back in its usual curls.

"Yes, well, thank you for the deed that you have done for me. You deserved them." Erik nodded, rocking on his heels. Half of him wished that Brigitte would ask to stay for tea with him and the other half of him begged her to leave as soon as possible. He hoped Brigitte wouldn't notice how antsy he was.

"Well, that's all I came to say. Oh yes, I do hope you enjoyed the performance and the debut of Christine." Brigitte half smiled. With that, she rowed away. The masked man blew a sigh of relief, and went to his organ and pounded on it. He gazed to where Christine slept and saw that she did not stir. His music box turned on, as his monkey played a soft song with the cymbals moving. While he worked, Christine awoke. _Where am I? What happened? Where is Raoul? _Christine rubbed her head. It didn't feel sore at all. So she hadn't been knocked out and kidnapped. Or so she thought about the kidnapping part. She stood, to see that she was still in her _Hannibal _corset and her white dressing gown over it. What had happened? How long had she been asleep? _I remember there was mist. Swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat. And in the boat there was a man. _The young girl turned to see a masked man sitting at the organ. He was wearing fine black trousers, a crisp white shirt, waist coat and a white cravat. But the thing that caught Christine's eye, was the white mask that covered half of his face. Slowly, extremely slowly, Christine silently went over. She reached for the mask and tore it off. Erik let out a loud, "No!"

_You little prying pandora! _

_You little demon! _

Erik grabbed Christine's wrist in anger. He forced her to look at his hideous face and screamed, "Is that what you wanted to see? Curse you! All you women, so curious, so very, very curious, so inquisitive, eh? You got your wish! Now look! _Look, I tell you_!" With a quick thrust, Christine was thrown to the ground. Erik crawled away, crying. Christine couldn't bear to look at him. But she reached for the white mask and handed it to the pitiful man. That was the moment where Erik half-confessed his love for her.

"You wanted to see the face behind the mask. Now you shall _never _leave!" Erik growled. He knew that Christine would never leave, but he also wanted to make sure of that. So he chained her to the wall. The chain was extremely long, allowing her to the shore and to the other side of the lair, but that was all. While Christine huddled on the floor, Erik started to write out several notes. After he wrote them, he placed them in envelopes, stamped them and slid them into his breast pocket inside his waist coat. Venturing up to surface, Erik left notes for Andre, Firmin, Antoinette, Raoul, and Carlotta. He also had written a private one to Brigitte earlier, ordering her not to come down to his lair for three weeks. He didn't want have Brigitte knowing that he had kidnapped Christine. If she knew, she would be forced to tell the managers, or worse: the police. It had been three weeks, and Erik was ready to let Christine return to the surface. He also sent up more letters.

That day, everyone who got a note gathered in Andre and Firmin's office. Antoinette, Andre, Firmin, Raoul, Carlotta, Meg and Brigitte were there. Meg usually came with her mother, and Brigitte managed to tag along without anyone protesting about her presence. Here is what each note said:

_Dear Andre what a charming gala! Christine enjoyed a great success! We were hardly bereft when Carlotta left. Otherwise the chorus was entrancing, but the dancing was a lamentable mess!_

_Dear Firmin just a brief reminder: My salary has __not__ been paid. Send it care of the ghost by return of post. P.T.O. _

_No one likes a debtor so it's better that my orders are obeyed! _

_Do not fear for Mademoiselle Daaé. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her. Again. _

_Your days at the Opera Populair are numbered. Christine Daaé will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune if you attempt to take her place. _

_Gentleman, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not obeyed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. Christine Daaé has returned to you. And I am anxious her career should progress. In the new productions of "Il Muto" you will therefore cast Carlotta as the pageboy and put Mademoiselle Daaé in the role of Countess. The role which Mademoiselle Daaé plays calls for charm and appeal, the role of the pageboy is silent which makes my casting in a word: Ideal. I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box 5. Should these demands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. _

_I remain gentleman, _

_O.G. _

No one understood. Carlotta was scared out of her wits. Andre and Firmin were at their wits end, and Antoinette stayed neutral and quiet. The meeting went crazy, with Firmin and Andre trying to convince Carlotta to do the part.

"Did you not read what the notes said?" Antoinette demanded. "We cannot disobey him. What about the time with the chandelier years ago? It could be worse! We were lucky that no one was hurt, let alone killed! We _must_ do as he says!"

"No, no, no! La Carlotta _will _play as the Countess." Firmin yelled. And that was final.

**Alright, to leave off on another note. This may not seem like one, but this chapter is a cliffie. The next chapter to come has more drama and it's going to start melting back into my way of writing it. So, I'll give you all another chance. I'll post the a bonus chapter on Friday or Saturday if I can get five reviews. I'll post Friday if they come swiftly, if not, then Saturday. And, there were some questions when I did this last time, if the person could comment more than once. I'll say you can comment twice. I don't really want my reviews spammed by only one person. While reviews are nice, I'd like to also see some new faces. Alright, this is Savannah White, signing out. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you all for four reviews for my last chapter and thanks for the criticism! I **_**so**_** appreciate it, way more than you know. This chapter is filled with drama, ad I guess, a tiny teeny weeny little bit of fluff at the end. Hope you all like it! Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting! And now, on with the show!**

That night, the stage was sent, every seat was filled again. The Vicomte de Chagny was also there with his older brother, Phillipe. Erik was about to slip into Box 5, when he saw that a woman with two other gentlemen were there. Erik watched the curtain rise. To his shock and horror, there was Carlotta, flouncing around in her gigantic Countess costume. With his teeth gritted, Erik disappeared to the rafters. Carlotta's worn voice streamed through the opera. Christine sat by her side and played the silent role. Brigitte was in her ballerina costume in the wings. Right in the middle of the opera, Erik's voice boomed.

_"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?" _Erik screamed. He watched as the opera continued to fall apart. He made Carlotta croak, letting his maniac bounce off each wall in every direction. _"She is singing to bring down the chandelier!"_ Erik sliced the chandelier ropes. It would take a while, but Erik could manage. Andre hurried onto the stage and yelled, "It was nothing! Ladies and gentleman, there is nothing to worry about. There has been a change made, Miss Christine Daaé shall be playing the part of the Countess, instead of La Carlotta. Please enjoy the ballet from… Uh, Act III of tonights performance. Continue on…. Now!" The ballerinas went onto the stage and started to dance. Brigitte looked up to see the chandelier shaking. The ballerinas also did and screamed and ran off the stage. Brigitte hurried to the audience. Erik laughed as he sawed through the rope. He made sure the people were out of the way, or so he thought, before cutting the last of the rope. Brigitte gasped as she looked up to see the chandelier falling down. She was in the audience helping an elderly man out, when the chandelier came down. Brigitte gave the man a harsh push to get him out of the way. Shards of glass cut at her skin and face. Before her eyes, the chandelier went up in flames. Brigitte's reaction was the scramble away, but found that her legs were under part of the chandelier. The man started to cry and hurried out the door to get help. Letting out a terrible cry, no one could hear Brigitte over the continuous screaming and chaos. Erik was just about to leave, thinking his work was over, when he heard a scream. Erik looked down and felt his heart drop to his feet. He hadn't even seen Brigitte under the chandelier. Not wasting a moment, Erik knew everyone was headed toward the staircase. No one was in sight, and it would take the firemen some time to get to the opera house and through the crowd. Everyone was ordered to stay away. No one knew that Brigitte was still inside, trapped under the chandelier. With quick smooth moves, Erik grabbed the extra chains and and had to pull extra hard to get the chain to slide down. He wasn't a heavy man, so that was why he had to pull hard. Brigitte looked up to see the swish of Erik's black cape. He landed on his feet beside Brigitte. Taking off his cape, Erik unbuttoned his waist coat and rolled up his white shirt sleeves.

"Er-Er-Erik." Brigitte coughed. She lay on her back, still in her costume. She gasped for breath of fresh air and coughed. The smoke was dark and the fire was spreading quickly.

"Do not worry, little Brigitte. I shall get you out of here." Erik quickly worked to lift the chandelier off of the poor ballerina underneath. Ignoring the glass and metal that was cutting into his hands, Erik raised up the chandelier and yelled, "Go." Brigitte used her elbows to move out of the way. She couldn't move her left leg and her right felt badly burned. _Move faster, Brigitte! You can't keep Monsieur Erik lifting this chandelier up forever! _The girl finally moved out of the reach of the chandelier. Erik dropped the chandelier as sparks flew up. A large burst of fire caught Brigitte's costume. Erik worked to put the flames out. He grabbed his waistcoat and his cape, before picking Brigitte up in his arms. But as he took off, he didn't notice that his cape had dropped when he had bent down to carry Brigitte out. Feeling her vision go in circles, Brigitte coughed. It sounded terrible. Through her blurry vision, she saw his soot covered soiled white shirt. _Look at what you've done! You've ruined Monsieur Erik's suit! _Her mind silently chastised her.

Outside of the stage, Antoinette gathered up all of the ballerinas.

"One, two, three," Antoinette counted. There were two people missing. "Where is Christine and Brigitte?"

"I saw Christine talking with the Vicomte. Where is Brigitte?" Meg cried. Tears sprang into the older woman's eyes. Antoinette screamed, "No! Brigitte! Brigitte!" As she ran through the crowd, Antoinette found no sight of Brigitte. That only meant one thing: she was still inside. The older woman caught Firmin and Andre.

"Madame Giry, do you not see that we are in a crisis?" Firmin spat.

"Not as big as this! Brigitte is missing! She has to be in there!" Antoinette screamed over the crowd.

"Well we can't go _back_ in there! The opera house is burning _down_ Madame Giry!" Firmin replied.

"With a girl who I have considered one of my own daughters trapped _inside!_" Antoinette protested.

"Help! Help! There's a ballerina inside!" the old man hobbled over. "Please! She saved my life!" He grabbed Firmin by the lapels of his coat. "We have to rescue her! She saved my life! She saved my life! Please!" That was when the fire department hauled in. Men ripped off their fancy coats and rolled up their sleeves. Buckets and pail were handed down a line. It took at least three hours, but the fire was finally put out. Detectives and policemen were on the scene. The sight was a mess. At least thirteen rows of seats were charred, the once grand chandelier was smashed and burned. Glass was strewn out everywhere.

"Madame! Monsieur!" a policemen motioned for Antoinette, the old man, Andre and Firmin to come over. There were four policemen. One was on their knees, holding something. A black, half burned cape.

"What do you think this is?" the man on his knees asked. Antoinette's eyes widen. She could recognize that cape anywhere. _Erik_. The other policemen pointed a few feet away. Blood. Not just a little, a pool of dark red blood. _Brigitte! _But where was she? The policemen pointed toward the ceiling, see a chain coming from the rafters, dangling near the floor.

"One of my ballerinas were trapped in here! This must be her blood!" Antoinette spoke up. "But where is she?"

"Well, she couldn't have dragged herself to an exit. The trail of blood goes from under the chandelier to right here. It's not connected to the exits. She must have been trapped underneath the chandelier." the first officer explained. The old man gasped, "But how did she escape?"

"She had help. But who? No one was left inside. Everyone but that one girl was accounted for. Who could have possibly helped her?" the chief wondered aloud. Antoinette closed her eyes and relief and in shock. From all of the evidence and clues, she was sure that Erik rescued her. People immediately got to cleaning up the mess, as policemen looked for more evidence.

Brigitte awoke to a startling sight. She found herself in a huge bed. It was not Erik's coffin. It was a large circular swan bed. She was swabbed in red sheets and blankets. A black veil fell over her and the bed, from the ceiling to the floor. Forgetting that her leg had been crushed by the chandelier, she let out a cry of pain when she tried to move it. The veil moved aside to reveal Erik with some more bandages, ointment and a bowl of warm water with a rag. He was still soiled and dirty with soot spread across his face and suit. He looked tired and worn out. Immediately, he set to work. Carefully, oh so carefully, he pulled the covers back. Brigitte looked down to see that she was in her corset and her puffy skirt was gone. Her cheeks flamed bright red, as Erik handed her a white shawl to place over herself. Her legs were a shock. They were bloody and bruised. Jagged cuts ran from her thighs to her ankles. The water that was once clear and the towel that was once white was now stained red. Brigitte gritted her teeth and whimpered as the warm water touched her open wounds. Not a word was spoken between them. Erik couldn't meet her eyes, though she could see the remorse, regret and guilt in his eyes. Yes, he knew that Brigitte's condition was his fault. The man then hurried away, dropping the veil back in place. Not ten minutes later and arrived with more warm water, a new towel and a tray of tea, chicken, and for dessert a cup, filled to the brim with bricks of chocolates. Before she could say thank you, she saw Erik nod his 'your welcome'. Brigitte ate quietly, but quickly. Now that she took some time to focus on something other than her legs, Brigitte focus on her hungry stomach. She hadn't ate since lunch. Now that her legs were clean, Brigitte saw how many cuts there really were. Tears gathered in her eyes. She had always been proud of her unblemished skin. Now Brigitte knew that her perfect skin would never be the same. But that wasn't what she truly feared. She had seen it before; ballerinas who had broken a bone in their foot or leg. This could end her dancing career forever. She tried to blink away the tears, but she couldn't. She laid her head on the pillow and headboard, and closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. But surprisingly enough, she wasn't mad at Erik. No, she wasn't mad at herself, or the man she had helped. She wasn't mad at all! More like sad and incredibly disappointed. She could never be mad at Erik. If it were not for him, she surely would have died. Erik pulled out a white kerchief and silently handed it to her. Brigitte took it, but surprised Erik by not letting go of his hand. She stroked his bony hand and whispered, "Thank you, Erik." She soon felt drowsy and slowly, she let sleep captivate her. The tall tired man held on to her hand for at least another hour, his thumb stroking her hand, as he watched her sleep. Though she looked badly bruised, she was beautiful. Her lashes were long and thick. Her lips were closed together, looking so soft and so pink. Her curls framed her face and her torso in their perfect shape. Tears gathered in Erik's eyes and threatened to overflow. He stood from his seat and dropped the black veil back into place. He knew that Brigitte wasn't entirely a light sleeper, as he threw a rock at a mirror. That rock was for Christine. After he had taken Brigitte down to his lair and did his first round of cleaning her wounds, he had ran up to the roof of the opera house. He recalled that time:

_(Three Hours ago, when the fire started)_

_ Raoul and Christine had fled to the roof before the chandelier had crashed. As soon as the ballet went onto the stage and the chandelier had fallen, Christine had met up with Raoul and they had taken off to the roof. They were not even aware of the real situation. _

_ "Why have you brought us here, Christine? I demand to know!" Raoul demanded. _

_ "Be quiet, dear, HE'LL hear you!" Christine hurried to the concrete railing of the balcony. "I must tell you! He's there-," _

_ "There is no 'phantom of the opera', Christine! Wake up! You and everyone else in this place are imagining things! He is a fable!" Raoul lowered his shouting, but still was pacing, grabbing the young prima donna's arms. He shook Christine to emphasis his words. _

_ "You don't understand, my love! I have SEEN him! I have been there! The world where the daylight dissolves into DARKNESS! DARKNESS, Raoul!" Christine grasped Raoul, and embraced him, as if he was her guardian angel. Erik growled behind the statue. He was watching them. He was always watching Christine. This made him fume inside. It hurt his heart to see Christine with another man. _

_ "But Christine-," Raoul was interrupted. _

_ "His voice! The music! Through music my soul began to soar. And I heard as I've never heard before." Christine sighed. That was when they both confessed their love for one another, unashamed, and they sealed it with a passionate kiss. _

_ "Order you fine horses! Be waiting for me at the door, Raoul!" Christine hurried off. _

_ "Christine, wait! I love you." Raoul kissed her once more. They both took off. Erik watched as the pair rode away in Raoul's carriage down the streets below. Grasping his chest, Erik couldn't breathe. He stood up on the railing and screamed, "YOU WILL CURSE THE DAY YOU DID NOT DO ALL THAT THE PHANTOM ASKED OF YOU!"_

Erik sat on his chair, soft tears running down his face. She had betrayed him. That Raoul! Taken his Christine away! He suddenly heard footsteps. It was the light tread of Brigitte.

"Erik? Are you alright?" Brigitte came over. She was hobbling and hopping on one leg, dragging the other behind her. She had the shawl wrapped tightly around her. Her curls were mess, yet she looked like an angel.

"No, I'm not. Christine, she, she betrayed me!" Erik mumbled. He took off his mask and put it on the table beside him.

"It's alright. There are plenty more, far better than Christine. She just doesn't deserve you!" Brigitte put a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. Erik started to question himself. Did he really love Christine? She had betrayed him! Rejected him! No, he hadn't loved her. That couldn't be possible. Erik wiped his tears away. No, he didn't love Christine. Not one bit. How could he have loved someone who would betray him? The man stood, and he replied, "You, should be sleeping." With that, he gently scooped Brigitte up in his arms to take her back to bed. Brigitte gasped, as Erik picked her up. Her legs and limbs ached all over. Before he put her down onto the bed, she kissed his deformed cheek and whispered, "You will find love, Monsieur. It may not be today or tomorrow, but someone will realize how wonderful you are." With that, Brigitte pulled the covers up to her waist and closed her eyes. Stumbling backwards, Erik dropped the veil and felt where Brigitte kissed his cheek. She was still not mad at him for hurting her and possibly ending her career! How could it be?

**Ah, next week, we shall see what happens. I hope you enjoyed the drama in this chapter! I might try to write some more in, for my story does seem drama-less. Thanks to all! I hope you have a great week! Read, review, follow, favorite, I appreciate them all! - Savannah White**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello everyone! I'm so terrible sorry for not updating on Tuesday. I was on vacation and I did not take my laptop with me. Therefore this chapter is to make up and there will be one on Tuesday. I hope that I didn't leave you in too much suspense from last week's dramatic chapter. Thank you for all the kind reviews from my last chapter; I'm so very glad that you all liked it! Thanks for reading, reviewing, following, favoriting and such. **

The next morning Erik took Brigitte back to civilization. Antoinette wasn't aware of Brigitte coming back. But as she came to the grand staircase, she saw her. She was clean and in a new dress, but she looked terrible. All the other ballerinas who had been following Antoinette gasped at the sight of the poor creature. Meg and Antoinette hurried to help Brigitte. They got to the stage and sat Brigitte down. That was when Brigitte saw the scene. Most of the chandelier had been cleaned up. Workers were there taking the rest of the chandelier apart. People were removing the charred seats to replace them with new ones. There were many people there. The managers were no where in sight, neither was Monsieur Reyer. Everyone was whispering about the Opera Ghost. A doctor was there and confirmed that Brigitte had broken her left leg and her right foot. Her burns were only second degree, but some of her cuts needed stitches. They took her away and did some stitches. That was when they told her that her dancing career was officially over. Brigitte was not too surprised; after all, she had seen these kinds of injuries ruin dancing careers. She just happened to be another. She arrived back at the opera house after lunch. Erik watched from the rafters. No one was up there. They were too focused on getting the mess cleaned up on the ground, than replacing the chandelier at the moment. Meg hurried to Brigitte's side and whispered, "Are you okay? Did he rescue you?" Meg watched her dear friend nod, as tears gathered in her eyes.

"Oh, Meg. Don't cry. You will ruin your make-up. He did, Meg. He swung down on the chain and lifted the chandelier off of my legs. He saved my life." Brigitte whispered. "By the way, where is Christine?" Shrugging, Meg answered, "That diva? No one has seen her since the incident with La Carlotta. Speaking of saving lives, there is someone here to speak to you." She stood back to revealing the older man she had helped. He carried his cane and a bouquet of wildflowers. He took off his hat and greeted, "Mademoiselle. I wanted to thank you for saving my life."

"Oh really, it was nothing. I wanted to. I couldn't have someone be killed knowing that I could have done something to prevent it." Brigitte smiled as the man handed her the flowers.

"_'Nothing'_ you say? Everyone fled for their own life, but you stayed behind to help an old man. I call that courage. I call you my hero, my dear." the old man bowed. Meg brought over a chair, so the man could sit. He and Brigitte talked for a while. Brigitte learned that this man, Monsieur Alain Neville, was another patron to the Palais Garnier. He was a kind man, his wife had just passed away, and his daughter had moved to England. He had one granddaughter and lived alone across the street. Alain was a rich man, who had made a fortune after years of working and hard labor. Now he could sit back and relax and spent his money freely. The pair found that they had quite a bit in common. Soon Alain had to leave, but insisted that he come to spend the day with Brigitte tomorrow. She agreed, and it was just as he was leaving when a happy Christine skipped up the stairs.

"Hello everyone!" Christine smiled. She wore a yellow dress, with her hair done fancily and her eyes shining. Her presence did not get the reception that she thought she would.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, may I kindly ask where you have been?" Antoinette asked, her eyes and tone dark. Christine's smile faded, as she replied, "The Vicomte took me out for breakfast. Why?"

"Were you not aware of the situation last night? The Opera House nearly burned down and Brigitte and one of our oldest patrons almost died! Where were you last night?" Antoinette hit her stick to the ground.

"I-I was out. Out with the Vicomte on the roof. We were talking. I had no idea-," Christine stammered, as her eyes went to where Brigitte was sitting.

"Of course not! You were spending _time_ with the Vicomte. While Brigitte was here, saving the patron's life." Antoinette motioned to Brigitte. She usually never compared the two, but at the moment she was furious. Christine had been off fooling around with the patron when Brigitte almost died doing a good deed. Antoinette heard a scream. A sandbag had fallen right beside Christine. Antoinette fought a smile. She knew Erik was furious. That day there was no practice. Christine was extremely quiet and avoided Brigitte and Antoinette like the plague. That night, Meg helped Brigitte get situation in bed. Brigitte whispered as thanks as Meg climbed into her own bed that was beside Brigitte's and they both smiled to each other before falling asleep.

The next day everyone was gathered in the managers office. Andre, Firmin, Antoinette, Monsieur Alain Neville, Raoul, Christine, Meg, Brigitte, La Carlotta and Piangi were all there. Brigitte immediately sat down, her legs burning like fire. Erik was inside the wall, watching the scene take place.

"The fire was an unfortunate event. It almost costed us the life of our patron." Firmin started. _'It almost costed us the life of our patron?' What about the courageous girl who saved him? Does she not get any credit? _Erik mumbled to himself. He found out that he didn't need to say the words.

"It almost costed us the life of our patron? What about the courageous girl who saved him? Does she not get any credit?" Alain spoke up.

"Well, her too." Firmin muttered. "Anyways, the Opera House shall open back up in about a weeks time if all fares well. But, we do have something to discuss with you, Mademoiselle Brigitte. With your dancing career over, well, with your dancing career, came your home and your food. With you not being able to perform anymore, I do not see that you can stay here anymore. At least not without a rent."

_"What?"_ Antoinette demanded, furious.

"What do you mean, Monsieur?" Brigitte did her best not to tremble.

"You cannot stay here anymore. You are out of a job. Did I not make that clear?" Firmin inquired, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Erik's eyes flashed, and if you saw him, you could have sworn that steam came out of his ears.

"We never agreed on this, Firmin!" Andre protested.

"Where will I go?" Brigitte whispered, her voice continuing to rise in volume. "I am nobody, I have nobody! I can't work; my leg and my foot are broken. I won't be able to do anything for at least a month. Where will I live? What will I do? Will I live on the streets and be a prostitute? No, I won't be a prostitute. I would never submit to that kind of life. But I may have to live on the street and steal out of trash bins to survive. What will become of me?" Tears gathered in her eyes, but she tried to blink them away. This, place, this place had been her home for her entire life. This was her family. Her own sanctuary. The streets were cruel and unkind to beggars and poor folk. They would surely be the death of her.

"No, that will not become of you. My dear, this is only way I can possibly pay you back for saving my life. I have a home. A large one at that. You may come and stay with me, for as long as you like." Alain declared, firmly.

"No, Monsieur. You need some to take care of _you_, not someone to take care of _me_. I couldn't possibly do that to you." Brigitte shook her head.

"My girl, I have a staff of thirteen. They can tend to you. You may come and go here or anywhere as you please. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing that you might be starving on the streets and working as a prostitute just to get by. Please." Alain pleaded. Brigitte considered this for a while. She didn't want to be a bother or a charity case. But she slowly nodded, before thanking him over and over. He had just saved her from a life of misery. Brigitte packed up her belongings, which was nothing much, and they went off to Alain's home across the street. It was a grand stone house. In the foyer, a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling. The walls were ivory and a grand staircase was there. A servant had to carry her up the stairs, for she could not even manage a few simple steps on even grounds.

"This is you room, mademoiselle." the man opened the door. Brigitte was in awe. The room was done in a soft peach. The walls were peach, as were the bed comforter, sheets and pillows. The carpet was plush and white. The windows were large and peach drapes hung from them. A large wardrobe was beside the bed, along with a nightstand. A vanity was in the corner and a door led to the powder room.

"How beautiful." Brigitte whispered. She hobbled in and sat down on the bed. A woman came in and started unpacking her things. "Oh, no, I can unpack those myself." The woman gave a kind laugh and replied, "I think not, mademoiselle. You should rest your leg and foot." She hung up Brigitte's three dresses, put her black shoes, undergarments and things in their proper places. "I shall bring up your lunch in an hour. Will that be all, mademoiselle?"

"Yes. Oh, and please don't call me 'mademoiselle'. I'm Brigitte." Brigitte told the woman. She couldn't possibly be any older than Brigitte. They looked the same age.

"Alright, mademoiselle- I mean Brigitte." the woman smiled and closed the door. Brigitte laid back and closed her eyes. She was about asleep, when she heard some tinkering from her window. The window opened, letting in a soft breeze. A hand appeared on the ledge. It was bony and thin. Hobbling towards the window, Brigitte helped to pull Erik in. Erik was dressed in his usual waistcoat and suit. He had his white mask on as usual.

"You forgot something." Erik knelt down. There was a wrapped parcel tied in string, tied around Erik's leg. He handed her the parcel. The young girl looked up in curiosity at him. He gave nothing away but a bit of shyness in his eyes and a small blush. Opening the parcel, Brigitte found a lovely lavender day dress. It was a simple dress, yet so elegant. The skirt, sleeves and neckline had white lace trim. The bodice of the dress was corset like and the skirt was full and swishy. The sleeves were three quarter sleeves.

"Erik, you didn't have to." Brigitte couldn't help but go to the mirror and press the dress against her figure.

"I did. Just an apology and a gift for the fire and the accident." The man shuffled his feet. He rushed over to Brigitte's side when she started to sway. He caught her in his arms. When she was looking away, he studied her green eyes. They were a pretty shade of green. It reminded him of new spring grass. The shine and gleam reminded him of raindrops that sparkled on the new spring grass. He gently laid her on the bed, before bidding her good day.

About a week after that, Brigitte started to practice walking again. Her foot and leg were healing up nicely. That night Brigitte lay awake. Wide awake. Why couldn't she go to sleep? She slid out of bed, and half-walked half-hopped to her window, before opening them wide. She got on her knees and sighed. It was June, so it was warm out and there was a soft breeze. The moon was full and bright, as were all the diamond in the sky. Without caring, Brigitte started to hum, before the words reached her lips.

Erik walked the streets quietly. He needed the fresh air, but always went out at night when it was dark. He had walked down at least four blocks and he was now journeying back. Erik was about a block away from the opera house when he heard a sound. What was it? It was singing. The most beautiful singing he had ever heard. It was even more beautiful than Christine's voice. Erik hurried and dashed closer to where the noise was coming from. He stopped by a large iron gate. The sound was louder. He scrambled over the gate and hurried through the gardens and shrubs. He crept closer to see a young woman leaning out of her window on the second floor. It was Brigitte. She wore her dressing gown over her nightgown. Her curls flowed freely in the wind. Her arms were leaning against the windowsill, quite relaxed. That was when he heard her sing.

_Did I make the most of loving you? _

_Did I hold you close that night?_

_Did I let you know that I loved you too? _

_Did I ever love you right? _

_I recall those days, but they fade away _

_What am I to do? _

_But tell me dear, did I make the most of loving you? _

Her vibrato was perfect and true, her voice sounded like a lovely lark. He was glad that it was dark. She couldn't see him, but he could indeed see her. He listened as she sang the last line once more. She then got up and closed the window and disappeared from sight. Erik had a plan forming in his mind. Maybe Brigitte couldn't dance anymore, but she still had her voice and her hands all in perfect working condition.

That night when he got back to his lair the first thing he did was sit down at the table with a piece of paper and a pen. He started to scrawl out the song that Brigitte had been singing. All the way home Erik had hummed it and repeated the words over and over to keep it fresh in his mind. With the words written, Erik then reached behind him to where his violin and bow lay. With ease, he slid the bow across the strings. All night long, Erik worked to compose the song, even writing in the music for different instruments. When he finally finished, it was about an hour before dawn. Playing music and composing once more made him feel alive. He didn't feel tired at all. In fact, the more he composed the more energized he felt. With a smile, Erik gathered up the parchment sheets and placed them in a neat booklet. On the booklet, he wrote "Did I Make The Most Of Loving You?" and under that he wrote "Brigitte". This would be Brigitte's song. This would be _her_ debut. But this time, it would _not_ be ruined. _Not by Firmin, not by anyone! _He then thought of Christine. She was the new prima donna now, for she had replaced La Carlotta. _Not even Christine Daaé. _With that satisfied thought in his head, Erik headed toward his beloved black coffin and laid down inside it to rest his eyes for an hour or so. He fell into the most wonderful slumber that he had never experienced since the first night that Antoinette had helped him get where he was today. Most of the time, he would have awful nightmares and he would wake up in a cold sweat. But not now. In his dreams Brigitte's song played. Erik envisioned her in a beautiful pink gown on stage with the orchestra playing in the pit. People would come from all around to hear her sing. Antoinette, Meg and Andre would look on in encouragement and Firmin, La Carlotta and Marie would be outraged and Christine would be in tears at her rise to fame. Yes, that was his dream. And in his mind, the best. This afternoon, he was going to pay Brigitte a visit. She usually didn't visit the opera house on Saturdays, so he would head over. With any luck, Brigitte would be in the garden that had shrubs so high that you would have to be your size plus half to see over them.

**Hm. Can anyone else see where this is going? I can *smiles and rubs hands evilly* because I'm the author. Any ideas on how this is all going to go down with Brigitte, Erik and Christine? Thanks to all who have been patient and to all my constant readers! ~ Savannah White**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hullo everyone! Here's the next chapter. There's a tiny bit of fluff in this chapter, see if you can spot it! This is kind of a 'meh' chapter, but yeah, I hope you still enjoy it. I'm still trying to write in a little more fluff and drama! Enjoy! Thanks to my readers, reviewers, favoritors and followers!**

About an hour after Erik fell asleep, he woke. He usually didn't sleep at all, for fear of the nightmares that he had. But no, there were no nightmares while he slept this time. Only a sweet dream. Erik rose out of his coffin and hurried to shrug on his waist coat and to change into his mask that made him look like anyone else. He smoothed his wig back and lastly, grabbed the booklet before rowing off to go up to civilization. He was going through the kitchen for something to eat when he heard Meg come through.

"Hello, Erik. I haven't seen you in a while." Meg commented. She went over to the cabinets and pulled out a large piece baguette bread for him. He took it and pocketed it, before replying, "It is such a shame. You should come down more often. Here," Erik took out a carved bird. He had made a dog for her birthday years ago, but he didn't know if she liked them anymore. "you can have this. I've made several more of you're interested."

"Erik!" Meg gawked, eying the beautiful bird. Even the feathers were detailed down to the last ruffle. "This is amazing. I don't see why you don't sell some and make some money instead of swindling it. You have a true talent. Do you have anymore?"

"I have two hawks and an eagle. The others are in the works. Now be a good ballerina and scurry. Oh, and tell your mother that I am off for the day to visit someone." Erik handed her the bird and went off. The day was warm, but Erik stayed in the shadows. He usually didn't bring any attention to himself and no one really crossed him, so he had nothing to worry about. Well, nothing but the sun. He had to get over the gate, but the streets were usually busy around noontime. When he got there, his first instinct was to quickly jump over, but his thoughts beat his instinct and he tried the iron gate. To his surprise the gate was unlocked. Erik hurried in and shut the gate. He ran through to courtyard, staying out of sight of the windows until he got to the back. He slid by the corner of the house and there she was. Lying on her back was Brigitte. She wore the dress he had given her, her hair in a matching ribbon. Her long locks fanned out in all directions. It seemed that her hair colour lightened from a medium brown to a chestnut brown in the summer. Her shoes beside her person were the new white ones that he had given her half a year back and she had on no stockings at the moment. Her dress was pulled up to her kneecaps, which was highly improper for a woman in the 19th century. Erik found himself staring at the feminine shape of her legs. They had muscle from her hard work as a ballerina, yet they still looked as nice. There were obvious scars and scabs from the cuts that covered her legs. There were even some on her feet. _Drop your eyes you fool! _His mind screamed, and he did as his mind told him. He watched as she sighed out loud and wiggled her toes. Beside her was a plate of bread, cheese, a cup and saucer of tea and a book. _Typical Brigitte. Always has a book with her. _Erik thought to himself. He turned and undid his nude colored mask and slipped on his usual white one. He wore the white one more often, so it was more comfortable. Besides, the nude one that covered his entire face made him extremely hot. He decided to make his presence known and tried to walk with loud footsteps. It didn't work so well, because Erik was so used to being as quiet and as skillful as a cat. Brigitte lay with her eyes closed, when suddenly from behind her eyelids, something covered the brightness of the sun. Erik watched as her middle rose and fell with each breath. She squinted and saw a man with a mask looming above her.

"Erik? I didn't know that you liked to come out in public." Brigitte hastily pulled the folds of her skirt down to her feet.

"I don't. But I've been meaning to see you since my last visit here, so here I am." Erik told her, folding his arms across his frail bony chest. As he spoke, Brigitte hurried to put on her stockings, when he stopped her. "No one can see you. It's alright." Brigitte threw her stockings back on the grass, and picked up her book, tea and food. They ventured to the middle of the garden where there was a large fountain. They sat against a shrub that wasn't facing the house, therefore no one could see them. The dress he had made for her made her look like a lady of high society. The dress was not overly tight, but did show her womanly curves. It showed her thin frame and her youthful body. Yes, she was a beauty. They sat down on the bench, as Erik spoke.

"Brigitte, I have been wondering. Well, let me start at the beginning. Last night I was on a stroll when I heard singing. I climbed over the gate and saw that it was you. You have a lovely voice, Brigitte. Truly you do. But you could do with some practice. I was wondering, if you," Erik's words started to rush and run into each other. "would like me to teach you. If you like. I wouldn't want to force you to do anything, so if you don't want to, that is fine, just, you know, let me know, you don't have to make your mind up know, I was just offering my services," Erik continued to babble, amusing Brigitte very much. As he had began to talk, a slow blush had crawled to his cheeks. She had never in her life seen him so nervous or so embarrassed. It was certainly amusing.

"Erik, I would love to." Brigitte put a hand to his. She fidgeted a little and asked, "Yo-you think my voice is pretty?"

"I think your voice is beautiful, Brigitte. I have our first song, right here." Erik pulled out the booklet. Her eyes widened and she took the booklet and opened it. Music slid out, the wind taking them.

"Oh no!" Brigitte murmured, as she had Erik scrambled to catch the pieces. Erik caught most of them, as Brigitte hurried to collect the others. The last was was floating above her head. She stepped back to grabbed it, when suddenly she felt as if she was going to fall back. An arm circled around her thin waist as she gasped. The paper was in her hand, and she looked back to see that she had just about fallen into the fountain. Erik had come to her rescue, thank goodness. Erik smiled, when Brigitte let out a sigh of relief, but he didn't release his hold. He liked having his arm around her. He liked the feel of her in his arms. _What are you thinking? Let go of the woman this instant! A monster does not deserve an angel from Heaven._ What was he thinking? Holding a girl like she was his wife or lover, when there were times where he practically felt that she his daughter? Immediately, he removed his arm and asked, "Are you alright?" He watched her nod and she handed him the paper.

"We start tomorrow at noon." Erik told her as he rearranged the papers in their correct order and slid them safely back into the booklet. He handed that to her, and she replied, "Here or in your lair?" _Is that even a question? _Erik wondered. He had mustered up all of his courage today just to go out in broad daylight.

"Why?" Erik questioned.

"Well," Brigitte stood up again and waltzed to the middle of the lawn. "here it makes me feel free. And feeling free makes me want to sing." Brigitte opened her arms wide and twirled around elegantly. She stumbled a bit, for her foot was still healing, but there was a sweet smile on her face still. She opened her mouth and started to sing.

_Sing to the music my dear,_

_Sing and you'll hear_

_The sweet melody of the night_

_So loud and bright_

_So go on my love, _

_Soft like a lark, gentle as a dove_

_Sing my darling dear, sing_

Brigitte let out a mix of a sigh and a soft laugh and she continued to twirl about, ignoring the spikes of pain in her foot. She needed to keep trying to walk and move around like a normal person again, anyways. Obviously she didn't realize how much joy she gave Erik. He smiled, softly. She was like a little lark. So gentle and free. So young and innocent. There was something about her that made Erik smile, something that made his heart happy. She looked like a child all over again. Like a little girl twirling around in the lawn in a princess gown. Erik leaned back against the hedge and folded his arms against his chest and watched on. She amused him, that was a fact. Her voice was loud and clear, and her vibrato was beautiful. He watched as her curls that fell down to her waist followed wherever Brigitte's head went. He watched her laugh, before she stopped to realize he was watching her- and smiling at her.

"What?" Brigitte didn't drop her smile, as she giggled. "I've never seen you smile so widely. It's nice. You have a nice smile." She picked up the skirts of her dress and bounded over to sit beside him. She offered him some of the cheese and bread. He took a quick glance around before he slipped off his white mask. Brigitte squinted and rubbed a spot.

"You need to put something on that. Your mask has rubbed it raw." Brigitte saw and felt him wince. Erik stopped chewing and nodded, before going back to his hunk of cheese. The feel of her warm hand on his cheek made his cheeks flame, though he didn't show it.

"Remind me when I go to the market to bring you some more cheese." Brigitte laughed. They continued to eat and talk for another hour. It was nothing much. Just some quick updates on the opera house's reconstruction and reopening, and Erik's latest tricks on the cast or stagehands. Before long, Erik had bid her good day and left.

That night in the opera house, Marie and Christine and the other ballet rats were gossiping about Brigitte. Meg had gone out to the market for some things for the ballet rats and Madame Giry had gone to check on the reconstruction.

"Well I guess Brigitte's dancing career wasn't meant to be." Marie sighed, smiling. She sat on her bed, all the other girls gathered around.

"Now she's living with the patron Monsieur Neville. I saw her today. She had on the prettiest gown." Sorelli commented.

"Ha! See? She's a charity case. Old Monsieur Neville is probably spoiling her just because she's now a charity case." Marie laughed. Christine joined in, as did all the other girls. A loud moaning came from the walls. The girls shrieked. Rumbling then occurred and more loud moaning.

"It's the phantom of the opera!" Sorelli dove under the covers of her bed. All the girls scurried to their own beds and did the same. Christine shuddered and ran to find Brigitte. She hoped to be back in time for dinner. She went through the gates and went up to the door and knocked. The butler answered it, and went to fetch Brigitte. Taking a look around, Christine could see that Brigitte was in good hands. _Rich _hands also. Brigitte came to the railing, and her smile faded.

"Christine?" Brigitte asked, confused. She didn't even know that Christine liked her. She came down the stairs to stand in front of Christine. "Come, we shall have some tea." The butler, William, led them there. Tea was sent up from the kitchen along with cakes and finger sandwiches. Christine sat across from Brigitte.

"Thank you, William." Brigitte smiled at him. Since she had been there, she had always felt a strong connection with William. He wasn't much more than a few years older than her and he was like her older brother. In fact, he reminded her of Erik, in little ways. He had the same piercing eyes, yet they were green, and graceful movements, and in a simple way, he even had the stature, with broad shoulders and a talk lanky build. The only differences were that William had golden blonde hair, green eyes, he was quiet and reserved, he walked in a bit of a slumped over way and the fact that his voice was not terribly deep, but soft, much like his personality. He couldn't possibly have a mean bone in his body. She had grown close to the upper staff, though she had never met the downstairs staff. William gave her a kind smile in return and he left the room.

"What do you know about the opera ghost?" Christine blurted out.

"Why? Do the ballet rats want to know?" Brigitte asked, her tone guarded.

"No, no. I want to know."

"To report it back to them?"

"No."

"Whatever we say in here, stays in here. Not a words gets out." Brigitte told her. "What do you know about the opera ghost?"

"Oh, Brigitte. You may have heard of him, but you have never seen him! He is hideous! Just hideous! His face, so deformed! It was hardly a face." Christine shuddered at the mere thought of it. _It isn't that bad. _Brigitte's mind silently argued with Christine.

"Really? He is a man?" Brigitte asked, lying. She was convincible enough, thank God.

"_Yes!_ I have kept silent, because I don't know what he'll do to me if I tell." Christine told her, tears forming. They talked more, Christine telling her every little detail about him, the lair, the way he kidnapped her, everything. Brigitte believed it, it sounded like Erik, alright. Christine soon left, and Brigitte went to go find William.

The next day, Erik woke extremely early. He didn't know why he was so anxious to go over to visit Brigitte. He had truly never been as excited about Christine's music lessons. So why did he feel so antsy to go to Brigitte's? He sat down and pulled out his canvas stand and paint. Not only was he a genius of music, but he was a prodigy with his hands. From wood-carving to architecture to painting. He had been a prodigy in music and painting. _If only Brigitte would pose for me. Then I could paint her. I could bring out the beautiful gleam of her green eyes, the curls of her hair, the fullness of her beautiful small lips-_ Erik shook. _How dare you think those thoughts. A monster trying to recreate an angel. It simply doesn't happen. But you could ask her. You could._ Erik shook his head. He spent some time on the organ to pass the time, but lost interest. He tried the violin and it had the same effect. Then he resorted to wood carving. Luckily, it held his attention until it was time to leave. The last thing that he did, was attach his gold watch to himself. It had been his fathers. That was the only thing he had of his fathers. He only wore it on special occasions and he usually wound it up for luck whenever he needed it. Erik looked at it, before sliding it into his pocket. The day was just as sunny. In fact, it made Erik smile. He felt unusually happy today. How could that be? Brigitte was waiting for him. She wore her white dress, her hair up today in a bun. Wrinkling his nose, Erik decided that he liked Brigitte's hair left down. Only a few strand curls framed her face. She was walking all around, with a paper in her hand. She was doing a few singing warms ups. They practiced some scales and arpeggios. The did some breathing practice, before she started to sing. At the end of their lesson, Erik turned back to look at her. He shifted in his seat, before blurting out, "Brigitte?"

"Yes?" Brigitte looked at him.

"Nothing." Erik mumbled. "No! I mean, well, you see, I am a musically talented genius," Erik told her. Brigitte let out an unladylike snort and replied, "I think I know that already."

"Yes, but I also am an artistic genius. I wondered if you would, you know, pose for me. Like, you don't have you, it can be here or at my lair, it can be in the day or at night, you don't have to do anything fancy, but I would request that you look nice, but you don't have to if you don't want to, like if you don't want to, that'll be fine, and-," Brigitte put a her hand into his and told him, "You're babbling again. I would love to."

"Really?" Erik squeaked. He had been preparing himself to be turned down.

"Yes." Brigitte told him, smiling. Erik stood and disappeared, before coming back with a parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. Brigitte opened it and found a peach gown. It had small sleeves that would rest on her shoulders. The bodice was once again corset like, but it had beautiful beading all around the neckline. The skirt was long and flowing, and there was a pearl necklace, and white silk gloves.

"You would need something new to wear for it." Erik told her, as she fingered the beading. She threw her arms around him and thanked him over and over.

Day after day they practiced together. And after they practiced, Erik would stay two hours longer and paint Brigitte. She sat in the same pose for two hours without complaining. The dress flattered her figure. She looked like an angel. The pose that he had her in, was nothing short of sophisticated. He didn't want the usual sit straight with a soft smile. No, this would be his finest piece. And making a piece that was to be his finest, required a sophisticated pose. For the painting, Brigitte would lay on her back on the edge of the fountain, her head turned toward him, her curls and some of her skirt spilling off to the ground, a rose lay in her hand that was dangling near the earth, while her other lay right on her middle. He never let her see it, promising her that he would reveal it as soon as he was finished. He often did touch up work in his lair. Though Erik didn't tell her that he was secretly planning her debut, he was making all the arrangements. Six months past. It was nearly time to for Erik to make his move and secure Brigitte's debut and spot as Prima Donna.

The day came when it was time to tell her. He pocket his newly carved creation and changed his mask. They started off their lessons as usual. Erik didn't know where his voice came from, but it rose with Brigitte's. The song was a romantic duet. He wasn't planning to sing, he had only wanted Brigitte to sing the woman's part, but the song captivated him. The song would eventually be turned into a duet, but for his angel's debut, it would simply be a solo song.

_Did I make the most of loving you? _

_Did I hold you close that night?_

_Did I let you know that I loved you too? _

_Did I ever love you right? _

_I recall those days, but they fade away _

_What am I to do? _

_But tell me dear, did I make the most of loving you?_

Brigitte's tone was a mix of a bit of playfulness and wistfulness, with her voice sounding smooth as silk, while Erik's voice was powerful and husky. Their voices entwined and complimented each other, as they sang in such a harmony. Erik was already in front of her, but they both grew closer to each other. By the time that the song was finished, they were only inches away from each others faces. Both of them were out of breathe, the song was finished, but they couldn't part from each other. That was the moment when Brigitte stared deep into his eyes. They were a wonderful gold color. Most of the time they seemed dull and lifeless, but in the past six months, they seemed to have gleam to them, filled with liveliness and life. She liked that. They had grown closer in the past six months. After all, they spent two hours practicing their singing, and then two hours of Erik painting her, and he usually stayed another hour just to talk to her every day. Brigitte liked the change in Erik. Around her, he was carefree, humorous at rare times, laid-back. He seemed like two different people. If she had experience this side of him before his dark side, she would never had believed that Erik could possible be the Opera Ghost. Whenever he was in his lair he seemed tense, agitated and lifeless. Maybe he really needed the fresh air. Maybe all the cold damp air had gone to his head and turned him crazy years before. _Get away from her, you idiot._ Erik obeyed his mind and stepped back. A blush crept all over his cheeks. Brigitte broke out of the spell, too, and watched as he stumbled backward over his feet, and disappeared. He came back with his painting. But she could tell, even though she only saw the back, that it was framed.

"I have finished it. It is a masterpiece to me, but you shall be the judge." Erik muttered a bit. He secretly hoped that Brigitte would like it. Not because of the countless nights he stayed up perfecting it, or all of his hard work. It was because she was so beautiful. He didn't know if he would be able to bear her not liking the painting he had done of her. He turned it around. It was beautiful. Everything was perfect. The sky was blue, the clouds looked real. He brought out Brigitte's eyes in the best way. They sparkled with a hint of playfulness. Her face was lovely and youthful. Everything about it was perfect. The frame added the depth. It was a gold frame, etched with accents and designs. Erik watched Brigitte's eyes water with tears, and he body shook a little. Brigitte felt tears run down her cheeks. He had brought out the beauty and youthfulness in her. Her small smile brought out her liveliness and her eyes brought out her childish playful side. It was beautiful. Not even a mirror could show such beauty that Erik did. The fountain and the shrubs made a perfect background. But he seemed to make sure that the focus in the painting was completely on Brigitte.

"Do you despise it?" Erik meekly asked.

_"Despise it?" _Brigitte repeated. "Oh Erik, not even a mirror could bring out the beauty that you did." Brigitte whispered. She bounded over to Erik and gave him a large hug.

"Wo-would you care if I did another? F-for myself? I want you to have this one." Erik's voice faltered a bit.

"If you wish!" Brigitte told him. If he painted her like he did every time, she would pose for a thousand paintings. His work seemed flawless and magical. He had the picture come to life.

"I have to take this one back to my lair. I just caught sight of a mistake." Erik told her, pointing to a tiny smudge. Brigitte had to squint before she even saw it.

"Really, Erik?" Brigitte questioned. _Well, he's also a perfectionist. _Brigitte told herself.

"Oh, yes. By the way, I am going to schedule your debut for Thursday night." Erik told her.

_"Debut?"_ Brigitte asked, horrified.

"Yes. We shall astonish Paris!" Erik announced, rather gleefully. Brigitte continued to protest as they headed back to their seat, but she silenced when she saw how excited Erik was. He was acting like a boy who had just received a new grand piano on his tenth birthday. They sat down to work out the details. She would sing at seven o'clock. A gala was also on the schedule after her performance. Before he left, he was sure to give her a new dress. It was a pink version of Brigitte's peach gown, but it had much more beading and a fuller skirt. Her hair would be left down in her curls, but pulled out of her face.

That night, Erik wrote a quick note to Andre. Andre, he could count on. He needed to use the same tactic that he used years ago for Brigitte's ruined debut. But if Firmin even dared to step in and intervene again, he just might have to use his Punjab lasso for once. With the note finished, He folded it, slid it into an envelope and stamped it, before writing Andre's name on it. Erik slipped through the walls before he got to the office. Sliding through his hidden trap door, Erik placed it neatly on the table, along with the score, before disappearing again to wait for Monsieur Andre. He waited an hour, before Andre came in. It was obvious that he was tired and worn out. Andre arrived at his desk to see a note. He looked to where Firmin's desk was, but there was nothing on it. With a trembling hand, Andre opened the note.

_Dear Monsieur Andre,_

_ I have another order for you. You __will__ schedule Mademoiselle Brigitte's debut for Friday night at seven o'clock. She has been trained well and is prepared with a song learned. This is the score for the song. The orchestra __will__ learn this and play this flawlessly. I order you not to let Firmin know until it is too late to cancel. If he does intervene, stop him, or I will. If these demands are ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Much bigger than a broken chandelier. I shall attend and Box 5 __will__ be left empty for me. _

_I anxiously await Mademoiselle Brigitte's debut,_

_O. G. _

Andre nodded to himself and the next day he gave the score to the orchestra. Indeed, the score was beautiful. It brought Andre to tears. It was a beautiful melody, truly. It sounded like the work of angels. Firmin didn't let on about anything. But then it came the time to tell Christine that he normal spot would be taken over by Brigitte's debut. Christine was not angry, but in fact, she was shocked. Her Angel of Music had taken away her spot! Why? What had she done to him to deserve it? But she reluctantly had no choice but to give up her spot. Raoul even tried to intervene, but when he talked to Andre, a sandbag dropped right beside him.

**Alright. I must warn you of something. :) There is a clue in this chapter about a plot twist. Now, I won't reveal it to you for many (many, many) chapters, but keep it fresh on the mind. PM me to take a guess. I still won't tell you though, if you're right. But I **_**will**_** know who got it right, who was close, and who didn't get it. :) Happy readings, thanks so much to everyone! Read, review, favorite, follow, all that jazz. I really hope that you all know how much I appreciate it and how much it makes me smile to check my email to see reviews, and such! Signing out ~ Savannah White**


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